Stoners
by Saartjie Baumann
Summary: After having had no contact with Brittany for nearly six years, she suddenly re-appears in Santana's life. As Brittany and Santana reconnect and rediscover each other, they also look back on the events that has led them to the present moment. Brittana.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I (quite obviously) do not own Glee or any of its characters**

**This fiction follows canon up to episode 307 (the disaster that was_ I Kissed a Girl)_**

**Chapter 1**

_[She looked down at the stack of papers on her lap. Her head was slightly cocked to the left, so that she couldn't really make out any of the typed words or sentences. Some of the papers were blotched with coffee stains, others curled slightly at the corners. She knew some of the phrases of by heart though. Sometimes at night she would recite it to herself. At other times, as she walked through the grocery aisle, a sentence would randomly pop into her head and she would stop, never for longer than a millisecond, and she would remember. And then she would walk on. Walk on and forget._

_Santana didn't really notice when the plane started descending. Nor did she notice the marks that her fingers were starting to leave on the papers in her lap. She waited mechanically for the plane to come to a complete standstill before she got up. She didn't turn around to glare at the small boy who had spent the entire flight kicking the back of her seat. She didn't tell his overweight mother that she ought to consider trading the boy for a six-pack of diet Coke and two Kit-Kats. She didn't tell the old couple who pushed in front of her on their way to the exit about her idea for an entree to heaven facility. She just looked down as she climbed down the little steps of the airplane, walked down the narrow aisle. When Santana looked up again, she saw the gates in front of her.]_

Santana pushed the front door open and almost immediately tripped over an extension cord that led to a large record player that stood in the small lobby not two steps from the door. Behind the record player stood what looked like pieces of hardboard that were cut and painted to look like clouds. She let out a groan of frustration as she untangled her foot from the cord and reached back to close the door.

"Oh my god, Rachel, could you just fucking move your shit out of the fucking lobby?" she yelled once she'd closed the door and turned around (this time jumping to avoid the extension cord). Although it was silent at the moment, she could see the soundtrack of _The Sound of Music_ in the record player, and on the floor next to it she saw the sheet music for Climb Every Mountain.

"Why the hell would you even have a record player? The colonial era has long past; we now have ipods and vaccines against polio. So put the fucking thing in your room, or throw it out or something!" she yelled into the apartment, "It's bad enough that I live in a god damned shoebox, keep your shit tidy," Santana continued, conveniently ignoring that fact that at this very moment several of her own magazines (including an August copy of _Playboy_, two old _Rolling Stone_ magazines and, strangely, the previous quarter's _American Ethnographer_) was scattered on the living room floor; that she had neglected to clear her breakfast dishes that morning; and that one half of a pair black strappy shoe had somehow made its way onto the balcony.

"Santana, calm down," Santana could hear Rachel make her way towards the living room where Santana had now thrown herself onto a chair. "It is a well known fact that no-one has ever been able to create a device that is able to capture a quality of music as well as the long player could. And I for one see no need to dispose of this piece of musical history, as Mrs. Carey was about to do, just because we live in a time where digital music has become the status quo," Rachel said as she appeared around the corner.

Santana creased her brow slightly as she took in Rachel's attire. She was dressed in a type of bright yellow costume suit which made her look like she could have been the mascot for some water polo team from the South of New Mexico. As a matter of fact, Santana thought to herself, she was sure that if one of the Tellytubbies were to ever breed with a sunflower, their offspring might look an awful lot like the thing (she still wasn't sure if it was suppose to be the sun or some kind of flower) in front of her. The fact that the suit made it impossible for her to bend her arms and she was thus forced to keep her arms stretched out in front of her only enhanced the feeling that Santana was trapped in some kind of children's horror movie. She supposed that she should have been used to Rachel walking around the apartment in only the most horrible of theatre costumes, but alas, some things, Santana thought to herself, were simply to horrific to ever get use to. She thus simply frowned and kept quiet.

"So I've been thinking and asking around a little," Rachel said while wobbling closer as if it were perfectly normal to greet one's roommate in full costume, "and don't thank me now, but I've found the perfect solution to our financial problems."

Santana kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table.

"First of all, could you please either take off the giant, blinding suit of horror that you're wearing or go and find me a piece of smoked glass so that I can look at you without causing permanent damage to my corneas. And second of all, I don't have financial problems, Rachel. _You_ have financial problems."

Technically speaking this might not have been entirely true. In the preceding months Santana had increasingly found herself with little or no money towards the end on each month. She didn't really understand why. It was as if her money simply kept disappearing (mostly these disappearing acts occurred at the shoe stores on 7th and sometimes at the Irish bar a few blocks down). Still, she kept telling herself, she was a graduate student and graduate students never have money. And it wasn't like she was being hunted down by loan sharks or, as was the case with a certain dark haired dwarf diva, had to phone home every Tuesday to "borrow" a few dollars. Sure, she had two jobs as research assistant in two different departments and another as a tutor, but at least she didn't have to do something ghastly like waitressing or be like her friend Andy who worked as a promotional Oreo mascot in front of Wal-Mart on Saturdays.

One day soon, she kept telling herself, she'd get a real job, take out live insurance and move into a small place of her own. Without any 1960's musical soundtracks, without impromptu performances (that sometimes included tap dancing) on the breakfast nook first thing in the morning, without any nagging about the difficulties of breaking into "the industry", and - thank fuck – without any more midnight hysteria about a fish-faced whale who, for reasons unknown to Santana, after seven years still manages to promptly break Rachel's heart twice a year (usually just before Santana's birthday in March and then again somewhere in September or October).

"Be that as it may, it is still true that both of us could use a little financial support and I have found the perfect way to create said support," Rachel calmly said with her arms outstretched. It struck Santana that, while Rachel could barely move her arms, she still made overly dramatic gestures with hands, flicking her wrists theatrically.

"The suit?" Santana asked Rachel, pointing to her own eyes with one hand.

"Uhm," Rachel said hesitantly, "I can't take it off right now. The zipper got stuck in some lace and Kurt needs to remove the entire zipper for me to take it off without damaging my sun costume."

Santana nodded slightly. So it was a sun. Before she could answer however, Rachel continued

"But that's not the point. So, our financial situation. I don't mean to meddle in your personal business, Santana, but you can't deny that things have been tough lately. And while I find that these tough times provide me with some priceless emotional repertoire should I ever be cast as Mimi in _La bohème _or perhaps even Eva Peron in _Evita_, you have to agree with me that it has not been easy having to cut back from three to two ply toilet paper. And last week, I had to take the bus to rehearsal. Therefore, I think that you will agree with me that a few pennies extra will harm nobody."

"Elaborate, Suzie Orman?" Santana said sighing, while picking at her fingernails. She desperately needed a manicure. Perhaps a few dollars extra wouldn't do any harm. And she knew that Rachel needed money more desperately than she would ever let on.

"Alright. So I was talking to Kurt this morning while he was making some small alterations to my costume," she said, gesturing to Kurt, who Santana only now noticed was standing in the door behind Rachel with a huge pair of scissors in his one hand and several yellow bows in the other. He had some gold glitter on his left cheek and chin. He waved the scissor through the air as to say hello.

"This was before the zipper got stuck. And he happened to mention that of old friend of a friend of his was looking for some part time accommodation in the city for a few months. Only on weekends," Rachel quickly said.

"For a few months. Only on the weekends," Kurt parroted.

"You ought to consider it, Santana," he then said, "If I wasn't living in a bachelors' pad where the kitchen was actually in the bathroom, I totally would have her stay with me. I could really do with the money. I was saying to Lexie the other day; there is no place for our profession anymore in this economy. It's terrible."

"That's because you scissor for a living, Miss Hummel," Santana said.

"Make fun of me all you want, Santana, but costume making and design are crucial parts of keeping the entertainment industry alive. If only the entertainment industry would realise that," he sighed. "But seriously, uhm, just consider it. It could be kind of cool. Only on the weekends."

Santana looked suspiciously from Rachel to Kurt and then back to Rachel again. They both looked kind of nervous.

"Right, Berry, as much as I would love for us to be able to do something to rake in a little more dough, I feel obligated to remind you that we live in an apartment the size of a shoebox. And while I'm sure that that is fine for midget species such as yourself, us regular folk struggle with having no space to breath, let alone live in.

"But," Rachel started.

"No 'but', Rachel, we are living in a tiny two bedroom loft as it is. So unless you are planning to go all hobo for a few months in order to get your paws on Lady Lips' friend's cash, I really don't see that happening. Honestly, I already have issues keeping my shit straight having to live with you. What if this friend is another musical freak and you stage a musical theatre coup and I'm left having to endure several renditions of 'I Feel Pretty' or 'A Few of my Favourite Things' for months on end?" Santana stood up and moved to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Sometimes she just couldn't with Rachel. She just couldn't and the worst thing is that she knew that she would eventually give in and give Rachel her way. But if she resisted a little more though, she thought while taking a sip of water, and pretended that this time she might not give Rachel her way, she could maybe blackmail Rachel into making her breakfast for the rest of the week when Santana eventually gave in.

Rachel turned to face Santana who was now standing behind the breakfast nook in the small kitchenette.

"I have it all figured out," she said confidently, seemingly untouched by the string of insults that Santana had just thrown her way. A few years ago she would have ignored these types of insults because she either wouldn't have realised that she was being insulted or because she would've been too scared to retort. After having lived with Santana for almost four years though, she now ignored her insults because she had realised that if she had to respond to every single insult Santana threw her way, they would spend the rest of their lives standing in their kitchen arguing. She also ignored it, because sometimes, when a very drunk Santana came home in the early hours of the morning, she would wake Rachel to tell her that she kinda loved her.

"And what I was thinking," Rachel continued, "is that we could empty out the closet under the stairs. So then she could put her stuff in there – it's more the big enough – and she could sleep on the sleeper couch out here in the living room. I mean, she would only be here Friday to Sunday and she would practically only sleep here. And of course we wouldn't split the rent in three; we'd only ask her a minimal fee which we could then use to lower our own payments towards the rent a little."

"Okay, I have several problems with that," Santana said, throwing both hands in the air, "because, firstly, I have huge ethical issues with forcing people to stay in the closet. Huge. And second of all, is this friend coming to us via platform 9 and three quarters? Because who the hell is going to want to live in a closet?"

"Well, you see, Santana," Kurt spoke up for the first time, "She's going to be working on a show here and needs to be in New York on the weekends for rehearsals. She's kinda been out of the business and so she doesn't really have the funds to get a full time place of stay in a hotel every weekend." He looked somewhat jittery as he spoke, waving the scissors through the air.

"Okay, whatever, I'll think about it. Wait. This isn't your friend, Colleen the weird cross dresser, is it?" Santana asked Kurt. She knew that she was on the verge of giving in. "Because I never know which pronoun to use when I speak about it and then it always starts crying and I never know what to do.

"That is incredibly offensive, Santana!" Rachel chastised, "One would think that someone who does not conform to the heteronormative society that we live in would be a little more sensitive to those who choose to explore and live out their true identity."

"See, that is exactly what I mean," Santana replied, "I offend without even intending to. So who is this friend anyway?"

Kurt looked down at the scissors in his hand immediately. He pointed his one foot in front of him and bit his lip. Rachel looked as though she wanted to wipe her brow only to realise that her costume didn't allow her hand to reach up to her forehead.

"Okaydon'tfreakoutbutitisBrittanyPier cefromhighschoolyourememberh erdon'tyou?" Rachel said so quickly that Santana had to take a few seconds to replay and decipher what Rachel had said in her head.

Once Santana had manage to figure out what Rachel had just said to her, she slowly turned around and tool a step to put her glass down on the opposite counter. As she stepped and turned back to face Kurt and Rachel she briefly internally congratulated herself for the fact that she had put the glass out of her own reach and thereby possibly saved the lives of both of the people in front of her.

"What did you just say?" She asked. Her voice was dark and low and stripped of the hint of playfulness that usually accompanied her sarcastic banter with Rachel and Kurt.

Rachel took a deep breath.

"I said that it is Brittany. You know Brittany, right?"

"Do I know Brittany? Are you fucking insane? Seriously? Have you fucking lost your tiny midget fucking mind? Brittany. You mean Brittany whose heart I was forced to break into a million pieces and leave behind and then spent several years crying myself to sleep every fucking night? Brittany who I spent a year of my life drunk dialling every Friday night? You mean Brittany who, when I last saw her, was hysterical and who I told that I never wanted to see her again?" Somehow Santana felt is if though her heart wasn't just beating faster, but was trying to escape from her chest. As if it was clawing its way through her throat to escape through her mouth and get the fuck out.

"So it seems that you do remember her?" Kurt asked with a nervous chuckle. If he was trying to lighten Santana's mood he certainly wasn't succeeding.

"I _will_ cut you, Kurt Hummel," Santana said, turning to Kurt.

He flinched ever so slightly and stepped back a little, but continued none the less.

"Look Santana, I feel for you, I really do. I get it. Your puppy love didn't work out. Your eighteen year old heart was broken and that feeling that you had, that you thought would never ever go away or be replaced, was ripped away from you. I get it. Because guess what? The same thing happened to me. And to Rachel. It actually happened to Rachel several times. And to a million other people out there. But that was almost seven freaking years ago. So if you could just stopped being a self-centred little girl for one second and look around, you'd see that your friend, Rachel, needs your help right now. Because while you spend your days drifting around campus, sleeping in, and being an eternal student, Rachel here works her butt off to make ends meet by taking on whatever parts she can get," Kurt said, gesturing towards Rachel who was lightly swaying in her bright yellow ensemble, looking at her feet.

Santana frowned and looked out the window. While it certainly wasn't true that Santana sat around all day doing nothing (she thought that one could certainly tell that Kurt had never dabbled in graduate education), it was also true that Rachel had it pretty bad. Despite Rachel's dreams of becoming a Broadway sensation, she spent most of her time doing children's theatre nowadays. And despite the fact that Rachel maintained that she firmly believed that she would be called up to Broadway any day now, they all knew that she would most likely spend the rest of her life starring as Sandy Sun in a preschool version of Four Clouds and a Raindrop and, to Santana's great joy, Sleepy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Santana knew this. She knew that Rachel, like herself, was desperately trying to live independently. She also knew that Rachel owed her dads an obscene amount of money. She owed Kurt $497 and she owed Finn $184 at that very moment. She also owed Santana $4 (she had forgotten her wallet and wanted ice-cream) and a new curling iron. The previous week Santana had walked past Rachel's room and saw that she had broken open the ridiculous piggy bank that she kept beside her bed. She knew all of this just like she knew that she shouldn't be worried about Brittany's presence on their couch and in their closet. She had told Brittany years before, after all, that she wanted her to be happy and would do whatever it took to ensure that Brittany was happy and looked after.

"So are you really that selfish?" Kurt broke her trail of thought, "Are you really so selfish that you can't help not one, but two of your friends? This is a really nice break for Brittany, Santana. And while you may have spent the last couple of years in your self-absorbed little world of whatever, I actually spent a lot of time talking to Britt. And you know what? It took her forever to take this leap and audition to do this. You think she'd want to do this? To live here? With you? But she'll do it in anyway. Because unlike you," he said pointing his scissors towards Santana, "she is willing to go through a little discomfort to achieve her dreams."

Both Santana and Rachel stared at Kurt for a moment.

"Tough love, bitch," he said while touching a stand of hair that had fallen out of place, "tough love."

Santana stared at Rachel and Kurt for another second before taking a deep breath.

"Fuck you both," she said, turning around and walking out the front door.

Thirty seconds later, before Rachel and Kurt could do much more than exchange a look; she opened the door and stormed inside again. She huffed as she passed Kurt and Rachel into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and climbed onto the kitchen counter. She reached up to the cabinet above the microwave and frowned as she used her hand to reach for something that was seemingly out of her reach.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked puzzled.

"Uhm, Santana," Rachel asked cautiously, "are you going to jump? Please don't jump, it's not worth it!"

"Oh, for god's sake, Rachel!" Kurt exclaimed, "It's a kitchen counter, it's barely three feet high!"

"It's the idea!" Rachel retorted.

Pulling something out of the cabinet Santana climbed back onto the chair and stepped into the floor. "I need a fucking cigarette," she said while pulling a cigarette from the packet that she had just retrieved from the kitchen. "Don't look at me like that," she added, "and stop with the emotional blackmail. She's not going to come fucking stay here. No fucking way."

With that, not waiting before she was even out on the balcony before lighting the cigarette, she turned around and left Kurt and Rachel standing in the living room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Santana sat on the edge of one of the chairs that faced the living room wall. She'd spent the last fifty two minutes counting the number of bricks in the wall facing her, while softly humming _Another Brick in the Wall_. Every time she got to about eighty her eyes went all weird and she lost count. Then she'd go back the top left corner and start again. She was trying to pinpoint exactly how she got to this point. How she got here, sitting on a lounge chair and counting bricks while trying to ignore the fact that Brittany would be here in twenty nine minutes. If every brick represented a set interval of time during the last ten days, she wondered to herself, which brick would be the one to represent the moment at which there was no more turning back? The brick that meant that she would cave in and Brittany would come here, into her home, and she would sleep here and eat here and brush her teeth and maybe chat about this and that as if she was some neighbour casually popping by for a visit.

Maybe it was the moment when she realised that Rachel had been ignoring her for a day and a half. The only other time that Rachel had ever gone this long without speaking to Santana was just after they had moved in together and a very drunk Santana had replaced her macon with bacon. And even then Rachel's silence only lasted seven and a half hours, half of which Santana had slept through. Or maybe it was when Rachel told her that she was thinking of moving back to Lima, because she simply couldn't come by in the city anymore (although, Santana thought to her own defence, this might have been PMS rather than Rachel talking). Perhaps, Santana thought while losing count on brick number seventy seven and starting from the top, it was when she called Puck to complain about the whole situation. Maybe it was after she had told him how ridiculous Rachel and Kurt were being, expecting her to let Brittany stay with her and Rachel, and Puck told her to take the stick out of her ass, act like an adult, and just let Brittany stay there for a while. But then again, Puck's other piece of advice to her had been a very casual "relax, stay calm and eat pussy," so maybe that wasn't the pivotal moment after all.

No, Santana thought as she deeply exhaled, leaned back a little and looked up. It was the very first brick. The brick that represented the very first moment. The moment when Rachel first said Brittany's name and Santana had to take moment to figure out if she had heard correctly and she felt her heart maybe give what may or may not have been an extra beat. It was at that exact moment when she knew that she would eventually go into Rachel's room on a Sunday evening and tell her that Brittany could stay with them. Just for a while. Just over weekends. That was when she knew that she would spend an entire Wednesday afternoon clearing out the closet under the stairs to make space for Brittany's stuff and that she would spend the whole of Thursday morning mopping the floor and that she would dig into the back of her own closet to find her spare sheets and a pillow and that she would lovingly, yet casually, put it on the couch just in case Brittany would need it.

"Santana," Kurt interrupted her, "I'm talking to you."

"Huh?" she said, snapping her head up to look at Kurt.

"I asked if I could borrow this?" he repeated while holding up her copy of _Loving Annabelle_ with his eyebrows raised in question.

"Sure. But you know there are like no boys in the whole movie, right?"

"I am aware of that sad fact, my dear ignorant friend," he said, "but we have this closeted little baby dyke at work and I thought it might do her good to be introduced to a little culture, if you know what I mean."

"By showing her a movie that tells her that she might be arrested if she got her lady love on?" Santana asked annoyed.

"You're insufferable, Santana," Rachel said as the entered the living room carrying a try with a silver coffee pot (Rachel insists that coffee pots are timeless and shows off one's elegance) four cups, a small milk jug, a few sugar cubes and a plate of cookies. "If you recall," she went on, "and I'm sure that you do, since you made me sit through that movie not once, but twice; you'd surely realise that she won't be arrested for engaging in a little Sapphic romance if she ensures that the object of her affection is of legal age."

"That's just fucked up, Kurt," Santana said, completely ignoring Rachel's comment. "Just leave the girl alone. I mean, has she ever told you that she's gay? Stop acting like you are the queen of all and everything gay and glittery and quit trying to lure people out of the closet if they don't want to come out."

Santana reached to take a cookie from the plate on the tray that Rachel had just put on the coffee table. Rachel swatted her hand away so that she dropped the cookie back onto the plate.

"I'm just trying to help her," Kurt said defensively, "Maybe she needs someone to talk to and you know, it's not like I don't know what it feels like."

"How swell," Santana replied sarcastically with a fake smile while clapping her hands together in front of her, "maybe you should call up Finn and the two of you could serenade her with a disco version of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun or Lay, Lady, Lay."

"You know, Santana, you're kind of mean today. Even for you. I know it's hard and you're probably feeling nervous, but it's going to be fine," Kurt said softly.

"Yea, well, whatever. I'm just saying; people should come out if and when they're ready. Not when She-man Hummel decides to smoke them out of their closets by showing them a series of made for TV LGBTI soft porn movies."

"Santana, I was just ..." he tried to protest, but she cut him off.

"Whatever, Kurt. I'm gonna go and ... uhm ... see if there's any mail."

As Santana got up from the chair, she remembered the reason that she had been sitting in the chair in the first place and not in her usual seat on the couch. If the new and improved Santana Lopez – the one who was now in her mid-twenties and thus mostly refrained from cutting bitches – were to keep herself from reverting back into a high school Santana who thought too little and spoke too much, she had to lay down some ground rules for herself. And she first of these rules was that she could, under no circumstances, be on Brittany's bed. And while it was true that technically speaking it wasn't Brittany's bed yet and both Kurt and Rachel were sitting on the couch-that-would-soon-be-Brittany's-bed at the moment, Santana felt that she had better start enforcing this rule sooner rather than later. So as she stood up from the chair, picked up a packet of cigarettes from the coffee table and started walking towards the front door she took a few extra steps just to make sure that she didn't pass too close by the couch-that-would-soon-be-Brittany's-bed.

Rachel's widened eyes and her strict expression didn't go unnoticed by Santana as she picked up the packet of cigarettes. Under normal circumstances Santana wasn't really a smoker. Not a real, real smoker. This was why she kept her packet of cigarettes stashed away at the back of the kitchen cabinet above the microwave. Usually her smoking was limited to occasions of extreme intoxication, moments of terrible heart ache or outburst of uncontrollable rage. And as she was now no longer the impulsive high school Santana Lopez, none of these happened too often nowadays. Over the last few days, however, she had been spending an increasing amount of time standing on top of the kitchen counter, her hand reaching up to feel-feel for the packet. She also found her temper to be a little shorter than usual and her jokes to be a little meaner. Eventually Rachel had suggested that Santana just keep the damned packet of cigarettes somewhere on solid ground, because Rachel had claimed that she still wasn't completely sure that Santana wouldn't jump or fall at some stage. And so Santana had agreed that it might be best to keep the cigarettes handy just until Brittany arrived. And maybe for just a while after that until she had settled in with them. She secretly suspected that Rachel, who was usually such a staunch anti-smoker, had made this suggestion more for her own benefit than Santana's, since Santana got the feeling that Rachel had spent the last week anxiously waiting for some kind of emotional outbreak on Santana's part. That might also be, Santana thought as she walked out the front door, why Rachel had, as secretly and as silently as her Rachel Berry-ness could possibly allow her, put their more expensive glasses at the very back of the kitchen cupboard, hid some of the sharper knives behind the television set and disposed of all of the razors in the bathroom cabinet.

And even so, despite all of the general negative feelings that she had towards everything and everyone at that moment, when Santana had nearly reached the front door and Rachel yelled out for her to stop, she paused and turned her head towards the couch-that-would-soon-be-Brittany's-bed where Kurt and Rachel were sitting. Rachel quickly made her way across the living room towards Santana.

"I'm going to give you a hug," she said, "but it will just be a little one."

As Rachel put her arms around Santana's neck she whispered (softly, so that Kurt couldn't hear), "It's going to be all right. We love you and it'll be okay."

For a second, as Santana allowed herself to rest her chin in the crook of Rachel's neck, she thought to herself that, in the end, everything might just be all right after all. Then she pushed Rachel away with a "For god's sake Rachel, get the hell off," turned around and walked out the door.

Santana walked down the hallway towards the door that led to the fire escape. She opened the door and sat down on the reddish steel steps (according to mrs. Carey these steps were only to be used in case of emergency, but in spite of her fear of heights Santana sometimes came out here to sit down and think). She looked down. From three storeys up she couldn't really make out much on the street below her. She could vaguely make out some very undistinguished features of some of the passing people. She could faintly make out the hair colour of some people. She could see whether they were wearing shirts or jeans. She saw that in the distance a woman who was struggling to balance groceries while flagging down a taxi. Despite her poor and restricted vision, she nevertheless looked down the street and wondered if one of the people that she could see walking towards their building was Brittany. She wondered if she would even recognise Brittany. Would she still be blonde or had she maybe dyed her hair a darker colour of brown? Maybe her hair would be shorter. Perhaps she now wore glasses.

Santana looked at her watch. Sixteen more minutes. She lit a cigarette and watched the smoke twirl into the air from its tip. If the squinted her eyes she could imagine that the cigarette was another finger; that the smoke was coming from her hand as if she were some kind of magician or mythical creature. If she were a magician, Santana thought to herself, she might have been able to go back in time. Then she'd be able to go back to a previous time when she had been sitting down this with her knees drawn close to her chest. When she had been looking at a cigarette in her hands, looking at her watch and had waited for Brittany to arrive.

It was a Monday afternoon. In the years after she could never quite remember what time it was. It had to be somewhere between three in the afternoon and seven in the evening. It had to be somewhere in that space of time, because it had been somewhere after the time that she sat down in Sue's office, the time that she ran back to the auditorium and danced and sang and slapped the crap out of Finn Hudson. But it was before the time when her parents got home from work. So it had to be somewhere between three and seven.

She was sitting behind the small fence that went around their pool. She sat flat on the ground with her knees pulled to her chest and took a drag of one of the cigarettes that she kept in a bundled up pair of socks in her second drawer. Brittany said that she would be over soon. Santana didn't know how exactly when _soon _would be. She also didn't really know how Brittany knew what was going on. She knew that she certainly didn't tell Brittany. Not because she didn't want Brittany to know, but simply she didn't really know what to say. It felt like the words that she needed to say somehow got lost somewhere inside of her and that, if it were to ever find its way out, she would burst into flames or simply drown in herself. As a matter of fact, until that day, that afternoon, she had never said out loud to anybody that she was gay. There were people who knew of course, and she had said it to herself in her head, but she had never said the words out loud. She had never spoken it into the world so that she no longer had control over where this knowledge went. She thought back to the previous year. To the uncomfortable conversation that she had had with Karofsky. Trying to convey her sexual orientation.

_We play for the same team_.

That's what she had said to Karofsky.

_I want to be with you and I don't want Sam or Finn or any of those other guys._

That's what she had told Brittany.

She thought back to other times that she had referred to her sexuality. She had always refrained from saying it out loud. But now she would have to. It was the only thing she could do really if she wanted to keep the last shred of dignity and pride that she had left. Yet she couldn't even bring herself to tell Brittany what had happened in Sue's office. But somehow Brittany knew. Santana felt as though everybody knew by the time that she got back into the auditorium. She supposed that that was the way the rumour mill worked. Quickly without leaving any visible traces. As if though, when one looked back and tried to figure out how a rumour had spiralled to a certain point, so quickly yet so silently; all that one could see was a undecipherable genealogy of people and words and stories without any way of ever finding its origin. Without any way of retracing its steps.

So when Brittany simply hugged her after Mercedes had pulled her away from Finn Santana knew that she didn't have to say anything. She just let Brittany hold her before telling her that she needed to go home. To think. To talk to her parents. To think about how to talk to her parents. And when Brittany said that she'd just stop at her own house and would then be over to Santana's soon, she didn't ask any questions. She just reluctantly let go of Brittany's hand – the hand that she didn't even realise Brittany had been holding - and walked towards her car.

"You shouldn't smoke," Brittany had said from behind her. She wasn't sure if Brittany had been standing there for long. She wasn't sure if she'd been sitting there for long. "It's really bad for you. And it's a terribly hard habit to kick."

"Yea well, a small nicotine addiction is at the very bottom of my list of worries right now," Santana shrugged. "You should be thankful that I haven't made a little trip over to my father's liquor cabinet."

Brittany didn't say anything as she went to sit next to Santana. She took Santana's hand in her own and lightly stroked Santana's palm with her thumb.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," Brittany said after a while. "I wish that there was something that I could do for you."

"It's just not fair, Britt," Santana said softly. She didn't feel like crying and she didn't feel like yelling. She just felt a strange kind of numb emptiness.

"I know it's not fair," Brittany said and held her hand a little closer. They sat in silence again for a while.

"And you know the worst part, right?" Santana said, "The worst part is that I would have done it. I was doing well. I finally stopped being a fucking denialist bitch and I decided that I was gonna do it. I was gonna come out. I even set myself a date, did you know that?"

Brittany said nothing but shook her head slightly.

"Yea, I did. I told myself that I was going to tell everyone during winter break. I was just going to take deep breath and tell everybody and whoever didn't like it could go to hell," Santana said as she lit another cigarette. "But now I'll never get the chance. Now it's going to look as if I'm somehow ashamed of who I am. As if I've been hiding you."

Santana pulled out a piece of grass and threw it into the pool.

"Sweety ..." Brittany began.

"No," Santana replied, holding up one hand to silence Brittany, "Maybe with is my own fault. Maybe it's karma or Jesus or whoever punishing me, because I did hid you for so long. Because I was such a fucking bitch to you. Maybe that's the way it works. The deeper in the closet you hide, the harder you get pushed the fuck out."

"You know that's not true, Santana," Brittany said softly.

"Isn't it? Because it sure as hell feels true. And the worst thing, the fucking worst thing is that I've now dragged you into this. After I promised that I would never hurt you ever again I went and landed us in this mess," Santana said as she felt tears forming behind her eyelids. She really didn't want to cry. She hated crying and today, today of all days, the really didn't want to give the fucked up universe the satisfaction of seeing her crying.

"That is totally not true, Santana," Brittany said as she shifted a little closer to Santana. She put she arm around the other girl's shoulder to pull her into a side-hug. "It really isn't. Like, first of all, I don't care. I don't care who knows and what they think. I've told you this, right? I am so proud to be your girlfriend and I'll tell the world that if you want me to. And second of all, this isn't your fault. It's Sue Sylvester's and that fucking pizza prick's fault."

Santana gave a small smile. Although Brittany's voice was soft and steady, Santana knew that she had to be very angry, because Brittany very rarely swore.

"So don't you think for a second that this is your fault, okay?" Brittany continued. She paused for a while and bit her bottom lip before she went on. "But honey, have you thought about what you're going to do? I mean, I know this isn't fair and so incredibly messed up, but have you thought about ... you know ... your parents and stuff?"

Santana put her head down on Brittany's shoulder.

"I don't know," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "I mean it's not like I really have many options here is it? I suppose I could just say nothing and wait for my aunt Mildred to phone and tell them. Mister Shue said that he could talked to them or whatever."

She inhaled slowly to try and keep herself from crying.

"But ... but ..." she starting sobbing into Brittany's shoulder before she could finish the sentence. She shifted once more so that her head now rested on Brittany's chest. She could feel tears slowly wetting Brittany's shirt as she cried.

"I just feel," she said when she finally regained some control of her breathing, "that this is all I have, you know? Like that ad to going to run regardless of what I do. And everybody's going know that ... you know ... So the only power that I kinda have left is the power to tell the people that I want to tell on my own terms. Like to be able to look them in the eye and tell them that I'm gay," the last few words came out almost in a whisper. Then she started crying again. She was glad that she couldn't see Brittany's face. She didn't want to know what her expression looked like or if maybe she was also crying. If she, like Santana had done a while ago, was struggling to keep tears from falling.

"I'm gay," she sobbed, "I'm gay, Britt, and I've never said it out loud to anybody before and now ... now everybody's going to know. And I feel like I don't even care that everyone's gonna know. I care that I won't be the one to tell them and for the rest of my life, before people even meet me or get to know me, they're going to be like 'oh, there's that lesbian cheerleader from Ohio'. And I won't have any say in that."

"But you get a say in this, in now, in what we do now," Brittany said while stroking Santana's hair.

"I guess," Santana said, "you know the funny thing though? Sitting here now with you, I'm like, why didn't I just tell Sue and them that it was all lies? That someone was just making it all up to hurt me or steal my spot on the pyramid or whatever. Why didn't I just do that? Why did I practically admit to everything right away?"

Santana wasn't sure if she was speaking to Brittany or to herself.

"Because you're better than that," Brittany simply said as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. "You're better than that and you have more dignity than that."

Another moment of silence past.

"So you're going to tell your parents? Today?"

"It's not like a have much of a choice here, is it? But yea, I'm just going to come right out and say it. I don't know, maybe my dad could do something to stop the ad or something. Get a lawyer. Or something." Santana said although she was sure that, if anything could be done to stop the campaign from running, Sue would have done it already.

"You want me to come with you? You know, when you tell them? Lord Tubbington was with me when I told my folks about you and the support really helped," Brittany said. "Although I think that it also helped that my dad might have been a little high."

"No, I should just stop being such a wuss and tell them," Santana replied. "They get home at about seven, so ... I don't know. Maybe you could meet me afterwards? We could go egg Finn's car or something."

"Yea, I'll wait for you," Brittany said, bringing Santana's hand up to her lips and planting the lightest of kisses on her knuckles. "I'll wait. But, I don't know, if ... like ... if maybe you can't get away until very late ... Then ... just call me at least or something, okay? Uhm ... have you ... like ... have you thought about how your parents might react when you tell them? Like ... do you think they'll be cool and everything?"

Santana thought about her answer for a while before she replied.

"Yea, I mean, my mom can finally stop worrying about me becoming famous through an episode of Sixteen and Pregnant, right?" she nervously chuckled. "Yea, no, they'll be fine, I'm sure they'll be just fine with it," she said as she shifted her head a little and felt Brittany's heart beat, beat, beat against her ear.

Santana got up from the steel steps on which she'd been sitting and looked at her watch once again. Six minutes. Fuck. She opened the door and stepped back into the building. Slowly she walked back to their apartment, pausing for a moment to try and figure out why there was always a drilling sound coming from apartment 302 as she passed it. She opened the door to her own apartment and turned around to yell at Rachel for the fact that she hadn't removed the old record player from the lobby despite the fact that Santana had been continuously nagging about it for nearly two weeks. As she turned towards the couch-that-would-soon-be-Brittany's-bed where Rachel and Kurt had been sitting before (and drew in a long breath in order to take full advantage of this opportunity to insult Rachel) Santana saw that the couch had in fact become the couch-that-now-was-Brittany's-bed. And at very end of the couch-that-now-was-Brittany's-bed, her hands resting on her knees, there sat Brittany.

"Hi," said Brittany softly, giving Santana the smallest and most hesitant of smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Santana finished drying her hands and then looked back at herself in the bathroom mirror. It had taken her longer to decide what to wear for Brittany's arrival and to get ready than it had taken her to get ready for her last four dates put together. This was why every single item of clothing that she owned (except for a very kinky nurse outfit that she could eliminate without having to try it on) was currently spread out on her desk, bed, and bedroom floor. Getting dressed was the very last step in preparing for Brittany's arrival. Other preparations included cleaning the apartment (so that Brittany wouldn't think that they were unhygienic individuals), ensuring that there were some regular food in the fridge (so that they would come across as responsible adults and so that Brittany wouldn't have to eat Rachel's vegan shit), replacing the lock on the bathroom door that Finn had broken during his and Rachel's previous biannual break-up (so that there wouldn't be any possibility of Santana walking in on a naked Brittany), and bringing home a busty blonde called either Haylee or Kaylee (so that Santana could be absolutely sure that not even the smallest part of her had any hopes of reconciling with Brittany).

She quickly put a rebellious stand of hair back into place as she stood in front of the mirror. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a white tank top. She felt that she had to go for an understated look tonight as to not give Brittany the impression that she was trying to make an impression or was at all bothered by Brittany's presence. She had pulled out an old Cosmo in which an article gave a step by step demonstration of how to apply make-up in order to create the impression that one was not wearing any make-up. She really hoped that she was pulling off this girl-next-door-who-forgot-to-put-on-shoes-or-make-up look. She wasn't sure though, because after Brittany's first hesitant "hi", the only other interaction that they had had was when Brittany had glanced over to Santana and quickly said, "You aren't fat. Kurt said that you were fat and had shaven your head. And that you walked with crutches."

Santana's only reply was to give Brittany a confused frown and Kurt a meaningful look which she hope he understood as to mean that she would likely kill him later. At that point she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

She turned around and walk back to the living room where Rachel had already pulled out the scrapbook that she kept with clippings and mementos from the various productions that she had been part of over the past few years. Rachel was sitting between Brittany and Kurt explaining some of the finer details of each production to Brittany, while Kurt pointed out pictures in which Rachel was wearing costumes that he had either designed or made. Next to Brittany, Santana saw, stood a large blue suitcase and the same duffel bag that Brittany had had since high school. The black sharpie writing which used to read _Britt's Bag _was nearly invisible now. Brittany was wearing a yellowish dress with a black cardigan pulled over her shoulders. For a second Santana wondered if it would have been easier if Brittany now had short hair or if she had gained forty pounds or gotten a nose piercing. She wondered if Brittany would then have seemed like just a little less _Brittany, _and if Santana consequently wouldn't feel the urge to catch Brittany's eye and then roll her own just because she knew that, on the inside, they were both struggling not to giggle when Rachel showed a picture of herself starring in what Rachel referred to as "the seminal classic, Cinderella." But Brittany hadn't done any of those things. She hadn't gained any weight, she hadn't cut her hair, she didn't have any visible new piercings. And she was as much _Brittany _as Santana could ever remember her being.

Brittany looked the slightest bit annoyed as Rachel turned to a next page. Santana knew that sometime during the next hour, unless she somehow put a stop to this now, Rachel would get her laptop and start showing clips of her performances. Rachel especially liked showing these clips in chronological order as she felt that it provided whomever she was showing it to the opportunity to truly appreciate her growth as performer. Unfortunately this also meant that, once she had started, she insisted on showing every single video clip that had been taken of her performances the last six years. Then, Santana knew, she would go online to show Brittany the various compilations that she had made of herself singing to upload on YouTube so that Finn could see and hear her any time of the day or night in whichever god forsaken part of the country he was (Rachel's initial idea was that Finn would reciprocate these acts of love and posts some videos of his own, but as to date this has yet to happen).

"Berry, surely we could find another time to engage with this spectacular display of egoism?" Santana therefore said, "Remember how we've talked about this? About the living room being a Rachel Berry Narcissism Free Zone?"

Rachel nodded slightly. After another second or two she reluctantly closed the book on her lap.

"But we should definitely make some time to finish this on another occasion," Rachel said, "I'm sure that you'd be intrigued by the complexity of some of the routines that I've been part of. I've grown tremendously as movement artist over the last few years."

"Movement artist?" Brittany asked, obviously confused.

"She means dancer," Santana said, speaking up for the first time since an initial 'hey' when she first re-entered the apartment and saw Brittany sitting on the couch-that-was-now-Brittany's-bed. "And no, Rachel, just because you managed to do the Macarena in a bear costume, while singing Can't Bear To Be Without You in a pantomime staged by the public library, doesn't mean that you've grown as a 'movement artist'," Santana went on, using the fore and middle fingers of both hand to mime quotation marks in the air in front of her.

With the scrap book put away Santana, Rachel, Kurt and Brittany were left in an awkward silence. Santana wondered how long it would take, and how many times her and Brittany would have to be in the same room, before these silences would disappear. She hoped to God that they would, in fact, eventually disappear. Or, if the silences wouldn't disappear, that she would disappear.

"We should show you the rest of the place," said Rachel cheerfully as she jumped up from the couch. It was she kind of extreme overly cheerfulness that Santana knew Rachel only displayed when she was feeling uncomfortable or unsure of herself. "Of course my own timeless style differs significantly from the styles that Santana has tried to incorporate during the last couple of years, but I think you'll agree that we've managed to create a space which mirrors the essence of both Santana and myself."

"How have you been?" Santana suddenly asked, looking over to Brittany and completely ignoring the fact that Rachel had already gotten up from her spot on the couch and was walking towards the bathroom to start her tour.

Santana herself wasn't sure why she had spoken up. Having Rachel show Brittany the rest of the apartment would have been the perfect way for her to escape having to be in Brittany's vicinity. Granted said tour would likely not last more than five minutes or so, but it would have given her enough time to collect herself and think of an excuse to get the hell out of the apartment. She had been quietly listening to Kurt and Rachel who had spent the last forty four minutes talking about the lack of government funding for the arts, all the while trying to think of an excuse to get away. She'd already been to the bathroom and made more coffee in Rachel's stupid sliver coffee pot. Perhaps, Santana thought, she had spoken up because Rachel's reference to her own ability as movement artist had given Santana the opportunity to insult Rachel and talk to Brittany as the same time and maybe that served as a bit of an ice-breaker. She wasn't sure why she felt that she needed an ice-breaker at all though. It was as though she was almost too scared to say anything. As if though she was afraid that she might speak to Brittany and Brittany would refuse to answer her. Or worse even, that Brittany would casually answer as if though they were mere old friends who were catching up over a cup of coffee.

As she heard Santana's question though, Santana could see Brittany's eyes narrow a little. She started drumming her fingers lightly against the small handbag on her lap.

"I've been good," she finally said.

"Yea?" Santana asked softly.

"Yes," Brittany said nodding, "I've been good."

There was a moment of silence before Rachel spoke up again from where she now stood across the living room.

"If you'd follow me I could just quickly show you ..." Rachel began.

"For god's sake, Rachel!" Santana cut her off before she could get out anything else.

Rachel kept quiet for a moment, seemingly trying to catch Santana's eye. Santana looked away. Rachel let out a sigh.

"And how exactly is it that you have been occupying yourself these days, Brittany? I for one never really got the impression from you in high school that you had a clear cut career path envisioned for yourself," Rachel asked. She'd obviously realised that nobody was about to follow her for a tour of the apartment.

"I guess that was because I didn't really," Brittany said, and Santana felt that she wanted to punch Rachel for reasons that weren't really clear to her.

"After I graduated I spent some time working with my dad in his t-shirt business," Brittany said, looking at the fingers that were still drumming against her bag. "But that didn't really work out, because he became convinced that global capitalism was about to collapse and then we'd all just live together in communes, and money and debt would become completely irrelevant. And so he figured that, since everything would collapse soon anyway, there was no need to keep paying the bills and stuff. It was pretty traumatic for the rest of the family, but then this really cool opportunity came by for me and I went to work at Kurt's dad's tyre shop."

"You're dad just stop paying for stuff?" Rachel asked with a frown.

"You worked at Kurt's dad's tyre shop?" Santana asked suspiciously.

Santana knew that Kurt had stayed in contact with Brittany. It was his fault, after all, that she was here now. She was somewhat taken aback, however, that he had failed to mention that he must have known quite a lot about Brittany. Santana had imagined that they perhaps sent cards during the holidays or Facebook-ed each other on birthdays. But if Brittany had worked for his dad, Kurt must have known things about her. Things that he never mentioned to Santana in all of these years. (Santana took this moment as another opportunity to conveniently forget that at the end of her freshman year she made all of her friends swear on their lives that they would never, ever, ever mention Brittany to her again.)

It didn't really surprise Santana that Brittany would be perfectly capable of working in a tyre store though. Once, before she and Brittany ever talked about feelings and stuff, Santana had asked her why she knew so much about cars. They had been sitting in Santana's broken down car after Cheerio's practice and Brittany was doing something with a hairpin underneath the steering wheel to make the car start. Santana felt that they ought to have called her father to send someone, but Brittany had insisted that she could easily fix it. Thinking back Santana felt quite thankful for Brittany's insistence that she could do it, because the way that she had to sit on her knees in the driver's seat, bending forward to do whatever she had to do with the hairpin, meant that Santana had a pretty awesome view of Brittany's ass in red spanks and a Cheerio skirt. Brittany made a few more manoeuvres with the hairpin before lifting up her head and then she answered.

"For a while when I was in middle school," she had told Santana, "my parent became convinced that cars would very soon not run on gas anymore. So they didn't want to waste money on a new car and then have to buy another new car when people stopped producing gas. The downside was that our Honda was pretty old. You'd be surprised how fast you learn how cars work when you keep getting stranded next to ginger beer stalls on the way to Cridersville."

"No, he really thought that," Brittany interrupted Santana's trail of thought and brought her back to the present moment by answering Rachel's question. "He, like, eventually figured out that obviously the whole money-thing isn't going to just disappear, and that he had to pay taxes even if he didn't vote for this government, but by then the t-shirt business was pretty screwed." She paused for a moment as she took sip of her coffee. Santana closely watched as Brittany turned the cup in both her hands a few times before setting it on the coffee table in front of her.

"They're okay now though. He couldn't really get _Socialist Shirts_ going again after the debt debacle, but he and my mom are now running a place where they recycle candles and it's going pretty good so far," Brittany said, holding out both her hands with her thumbs tucked into her fists, "so I'm really holding thumbs that it will work out this time."

Santana smiled as she remembered how much she always enjoyed spending time with Brittany's family in high school. How much she liked that they were nothing like her own. There had been the time, one late November, when Santana had been over at Brittany's and her dad came home with a bag full of wrapped gifts and announced that they would be celebrating Christmas early that year, because he felt that that particular day had a Christmassy feel to it. Another time, Brittany and Santana had entered the Pierces' home after school to find Mr. and Mrs. Pierce busy tie-dying every single piece of clothing that they owned. Santana used to tell Brittany how much she wished that she were of part of their family. But would mean that they'd be sisters, Brittany would always reply, and that would be gross.

_It's not that we don't approve of Brittany, her mother said._

_I don't understand, what is it then? Santana asked._

_We just have your best interest at heart, Santana, and I'm not sure that spending so much time with the Pierce family is doing you much good, her mother said._

_But I love Brittany and they're her family. I like going over there, Santana said._

_You know that we've been very supportive of your situation with Brittany, her mother said._

_It doesn't feel like that though, Santana said._

_What more do you want, Santana? We have not been anything but good to you and to Brittany, but her family ... they aren't like us. They're different, Santana's mother said and kissed the top of her head. _

As Brittany spoke about her family now, it suddenly dawned on Santana that she didn't really know them anymore. She didn't know if Brittany's mom had become gray or how tall her sister would be by now. Just like she didn't really know Brittany anymore. So that she wouldn't know if Brittany still sounded the same if she was sad, or happy, or excited. She didn't know if Brittany's chin still lightly trembled when she wanted to cry. She wasn't able to tell anymore, without Brittany having to say a word, what she was thinking. It made her feel weirdly excluded. Excluded from the world of _Brittany-ness_ that she once formed such an intimate part of.

"So you went to work for Kurt's dad?" Rachel repeated her question, while slowly looking from Brittany to where Kurt was sitting a little way from her.

"Yea. It just kind of happened actually. I ran into his dad one day at that place where they sell the gerbils behind the Catholic Church, and we started talking and I mentioned that I was looking for a job and so I went to work for him as a wheel balancing engineer," she said casually and leaned forward to pick up another cookie.

"A wheel ba-lan-cing en-gi-neer?" Rachel slowly parroted Brittany's last words.

"Yea, you know, I balanced people's tyres and stuff," Brittany said as if though it was the most obvious thing in the entire world.

"So you've been working for Kurt's dad this whole time?" Santana asked looking at Kurt as she spoke.

"No, no, no," Brittany quickly said, "I only worked there for about a year. The spinning tyres made me really nauseous and eventually I had to quit because of that."

"You are sorely missed," Kurt said dramatically.

"You didn't go back to working for your dad, did you?" Rachel asked anxiously. Santana shot her a look. Rachel just shrugged.

"No, I felt like I kind of wanted to get out of Lima, you know? So I taught English in Taiwan for a while. Surprisingly though, not a lot of Asians' English were as good as Mike and Tina's. I found it confusing and after a while I just stopped talking to my pupils which wasn't ideal. So when my contract with the centre that I worked at was up, I applied for a job at a dancing studio in Columbus and that's where I've been ever since."

"I must tell you that I applaud you, Brittany," Rachel said and Santana felt another irresistible urge to punch her, "I truly stand in awe of those among us who reach deep within themselves and need to search and stretch their imaginary core muscles to finally reach that one thing that they find to truly fill them with only the deepest of joy."

"Wanky," Santana remarked, shaking her head a little.

"As you well know, Brittany," Rachel steamed ahead, "I've spent the past few years exploring the daunting and thrilling world of theatre making. And I must mention that I think you'd be very surprised at the amazing growth that I've shown as performer. We really ought to make time to go through a few of my performances."

"You're performances as movement person?"Brittany asked slowly, not looking over-enthusiastic about the idea.

"Movement artist, Brittany, and not exclusively, no," Rachel said cheerfully, "I've been keeping all of my performances in digital format according to genre. The scrapbook that I showed you just now is a mere preview of what I've done – an index of sorts – so that one would be able to get a broad impression of my work. But then I also have quite a broad selection of clips and recordings of all of my performances. I also, of course, have backups of all of those on both on Kurt's – who I must say has been awfully quiet this evening – on Kurt's laptop and in a dropbox online. So if you'd like I could send you a link to the dropbox and you could then access my work during the weekdays even if you're not here," Rachel went on and Santana wondered how it could be possible for one person to speak for such a long time without once having to stop to take a breath.

* * *

As Santana closed the door behind Kurt, she leaned her forehead against the door for a second. When Kurt, who indeed had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole evening, got up a minute or so before, gave Brittany a kiss on the cheek and announced that he had to get going; Santana immediately jump up and offered to escort him to the door.

When she got to the door, she pulled him into a hug and as she did, she put her lips close to his ear and whispered, "One night while you are sleeping in your little princess bed, I will fucking come to your house with a cork screw and a few rusty nails and I will fucking get you back for this, girl-Hummel."

"That doesn't even make sense, Santana," he smiled as she gave a step back, "And I didn't do anything. And you asked us not to tell you anything. So grew up and play nice," and with that he turned and disappeared around the corner.

When Santana got back to the living room, she saw that Brittany was still sitting on the couch, but Rachel was now in the kitchen busying herself with the dishes. That's just fucking great, she thought to herself. Rachel being in the kitchen obviously meant that Santana had to keep Brittany company somehow. Santana briefly entertained the thought of pretending to have to go and help Rachel with the dishes, but then realise that not only would neither Brittany nor Rachel ever believe that Santana would willingly volunteer to do dishes and thus know that she's avoiding Brittany; but also the kitchen's size meant that really only one person could do the dishes at a time without any uncomfortable bumping and grinding. And the very last thing that Santana needed at that moment was Rachel Berry grinding into her while talking about some or other musical mafia's plot to sabotage her career.

Santana therefore, rather awkwardly sat down on one of the chairs again. She looked at Brittany who was now slowly swaying her legs back and forward. Then she looked up at the bricks in the wall again and then, once more, back to Brittany.

"So," Santana said, shifting in her chair uncomfortably and looking at her hands, "Kurt says that ... uhm ... you're here to some kind of show of something?"

A moment past. Oh god, Santana thought to herself, she's doing it. She's ignoring her. Another moment. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi.

Then Brittany spoke.

"Yea," she said, "I ... uhm ... saw this flyer at the studio where I work one day and it said that they were holding open auditions for a production of _Chicago_ at the city hall in Columbus. So I just thought I'd take a shot and try out and ... well ... obviously it worked."

"That's great, really it is," Santana said, still refusing to look up.

"I mean, I'm just like a backup dances type person, but it's cool so far. I get to dance and sing a little so that's fun," Brittany continued.

"I bet," Santana said. _I bet_, she thought to herself. Could she really not come up with anything more intelligible than _I bet_?

"Yes, it's a semi-professional production so that basically means that they cover my travelling costs and some living expenses, but not much else. So that's why we're only rehearsing on the weekends. Because everybody in the cast still has day jobs and stuff."

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Then Rachel re-entered the room. Santana thought that she had never loved Rachel more. In her hands Rachel had the ridiculous calendar that she had made the year before and insisted on putting up in the kitchen. Around the little blocks that represented the days of each month were photos of Rachel and Santana. It had taken Rachel weeks to complete the calendar, since sober-Santana refused to ever take any pictures with Rachel and Rachel therefore had to go around to all of their friends, collecting photos that had been taken of the two of them when either Santana weren't looking, or when so was so drunk that she could remember or implement the no-photo policy. Which meant that, unfortunately for Santana the majority of pictures either showed her in the middle of some animated gesture or putting food in her mouth; or, even worse, showed a weepy Santana crying while Rachel attempted to somehow comfort her.

"Brittany," Rachel said, pointing to the calendar, "I was wondering if you could maybe just indicate to us the exact dates that you'll be here with us, so that I can put it on here. You'll note that all important dates that relates to both Santana and myself are also indicated so that everyone will always have some idea of where the others are."

"Okay," Brittany said slowly, narrowing her eyes, "I don't know, like, the exact dates, but I'll fly in every Friday night and then leave on Sunday evenings. It's the same flight on the same airline every time so I'll be here at about eight on a Friday and leave at about six every Sunday. The show goes on until the end of March, so ... till then, I guess. I was going to take the train back and forth at first, but then I checked the schedules and apparently I'd have to wait for four and a half hours to transfer trains in Maryland. And that would have meant that I'd get home on Tuesday nights around eleven and would have to catch the train back to the city on Wednesday mornings at ten thirty. So I figured it would be better to just fly in."

"Noted," Rachel said, nodding, "Alright, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to wish you a good night. I have a very early rehearsal and if I don't get enough sleep, my diction becomes extremely nasal. Santana, if you'd just show Brittany where the bathroom is, etcetera?"

As Rachel turned and began to walk up the stairs Santana immediately cursed herself for not being the one who jumped up and claimed to need enough sleep first. Now she would be forced to spend at least three more minutes alone with Brittany to show her around, tell her to help herself to anything she wanted in the kitchen and ask (because Santana prided herself on her impeccable etiquette) if there was anything else that Brittany needed.

* * *

Brittany quietly followed Santana as they moved through the small apartment. Santana had already counted to twenty eight Mississippi. She wasn't sure what she was expected to say, so she kept quiet, hoping that Brittany would interpret this as a peaceful and comfortable silence, rather than the uncomfortable silence that it actually was. After pointing towards her own bedroom and showing Brittany the bathroom, just before they entered the kitchen, several drawn out high pitch noises travelled down the stairs from Rachel's bedroom.

"Is it a kitten?" Brittany asked suspiciously.

"No," Santana sighed, "it's Rachel's vocal run-downs. So that she doesn't hurt her vocal chords while sleeping or some shit, I don't know. Berry!" she then yelled up the stairs, "Would you keep your sex noises at a reasonable level, for fuck's sakes?"

A second later Rachel made her appearance at the top of the stairs and climbed down a few steps to speak to Santana.

"Those aren't sex noises, Santana, although I do agree with you that the voice is one of the most erotically changed senses there is," she said, looking offended.

"Eww," Brittany said behind Santana, softly enough so that Rachel couldn't hear, but loud enough to cause Santana to chuckle.

"It is a set of highly skilled vocal exercises to protect my voice," Rachel continued, "because unlike other inhabitants of this house, I am extremely aware of the time and effort that it takes to maintain one's singing voice. A person needs to take care of one's gifts should one be the kind of person who chooses to not bury said gifts and merely drift aimlessly through life. Moreover, I might add, you never hear me complain when you disrupt the flow of conversations by using words such as 'phenomenology' or 'post colonial'."

"The year before last my appendix burst and then for a while I was post colonial," Brittany said dryly.

"See," Santana said, smiling at Brittany, but turning her head back before she could see whether Brittany would reciprocate her smile. "So whatever, just keep it down," Santana said.

"I was just about to finish in any case," Rachel said as she turned around and starting climbing the stairs back to her room, "I have a short Skype date with Finn in a few minutes."

"Awesome," Santana yelled after Rachel disappeared into her room, "don't forget to ask him that I wanted to know if it was really him in that movie about the whale that was trapped under the ice or if they used a body double for him!"

"You know, Santana," Rachel yelled back through the closed bedroom door, "Finn is out there every single day risking his life to protect the lives of ordinary citizens like you and I, so the very least that you could do is refrain from these types of remarks!"

"You know that's complete bullshit, right? About Finn." Santana said, turning towards Brittany and speaking in a slight whisper so that Rachel wouldn't hear her and for a second forgetting that she wasn't suppose to feel this comfortable speaking to Brittany. "Rachel likes to make it sound as though he is in the army of something, but he's actually a security guard with a company called '_Action Academy_'."

"Seriously? When I was working at with Kurt's dad Finn's mom would always just go on about how handsome Finn looks in this uniform and not say much else," Brittany chuckled. "For a while, I actually thought he was a mercenary."

"Nope. They travel around the country working as security guards and bouncers and shit when rich people throw big ass parties and stuff," Santana said. She wanted to keep talking. She wanted to hear Brittany laugh more. "Rachel is convinced that one of these days he's going to meet Steve Tyler or someone and that that's going to lead her to fame."

Brittany laughed again. Santana's heart flipped.

"That makes no sense at all," Brittany said, "not even to me."

"I know, right?" Santana smiled again. "Because would Chris Martin walk up to Finn and be like, 'Hey, dude, do you happen to have an annoyingly short, but mildly talented girlfriend who is looking to crack her way into showbiz?' It's crazy!"

"Rachel and Finn are crazy," Brittany said plainly. "Do you remember that time when my dad made us those t-shirts that said '_Death to Finn'_? And mister Shue said that we weren't allowed to wear them to school because it was shirt bullying?"As soon as the last words left Brittany's mouth Santana could see her eyes widen the slightest bit. By the slight widening of her eyes Santana guess that Brittany might also have had some reservations about bringing up their past.

Then Santana wondered if it was worth hearing Brittany laugh again. If the sound of Brittany's laughter really made it worth having to remember. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to recount anecdotes with Brittany. She didn't want to laugh with her about the silly things that they use to do. She just wanted Brittany to come as silently as possible, stay as invisible as possible and then leave as soon as possible. Santana knew for sure knew, as she briefly surveyed Brittany's face, that she most certainly wasn't one of those lesbians who liked to stay friends with her exes. She kind of knew that already after she once spent an entire afternoon hiding in the parenting section of the university library in order to avoid a girl that she had briefly dated. But now, as she stood in front of the bathroom awkwardly trying to figure out what to do or say, now she knew with the same certainty that she knew she wasn't one of those lesbians who looked good wearing chunky black digital watches or khaki, that she definitely wasn't one of those lesbians who stayed close friends with her exes.

As Santana was about to turn around and tell Brittany that she should also get some sleep, Brittany spoke again.

"I've told you what I do. And what I've been doing. So what is it that you do?" she asked.

Santana felt a little disorientated. She wasn't sure why she would have thought that Brittany would know what she'd been up to. Of course Brittany wouldn't know.

"I'm a graduate student," she simply said.

"You're a student? You've been a student all of this time?" Brittany asked with a slight frown. "But that's like almost seven years and you're like twenty four? Isn't there a time limit on these kinds of things? Because my cousin, Seth, failed senior year and then he became a super senior, but eventually the school asked him to just leave. Now he works on his dad's farm. Do you think that they'll kick you out soon as well?" She paused for a moment and looked deep in thought. "If you want I could find out if my uncle has anything for you to do on the farm too. But you'd have to touch sheep and I know that you're a little scared of them."

"I'm a graduate student, Britt," she said. Britt. Britt. Britt.

Brittany just looked at her. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

"So it's not like I failed or anything," Santana tried to explain, "it's just that I've kept going for a long time."

Brittany drummed her fingers against one another and seemed to study Santana's face. Santana had never felt more naked.

"I guess," Brittany finally said, "I just never thought of you as the type of person who would study for any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Who would have known, right?" Santana answered and remembered that Brittany hadn't known her for the last seven years. "I mean my freshmen and sophomore years were pretty bad," she thus explained and thank grateful that Brittany hadn't been there to witness some of these darker days. But then again, if Brittany had been there, those days might have been significantly less dark. "I mostly only went to classes when I knew that I absolutely had to write a test or sometimes when there were events that included free food and an open bar. But then by the time I got to third year I discovered that "feminist critique" was just another term for "judgemental bitching" and so I thought that maybe I could actually do this. And it turned out that I could do it. And that I kinda liked doing it. I do ethnomusicology."

"Like the elephant?" Brittany asked

"I study music," Santana said, "But like music from different parts of the world and in different forms and languages and shit."

"That's really cool, Santana," Brittany said and she seemed to really mean it.

"Yea, I mean, when I figured out that I actually liked what I was doing, I kind of just kept going," Santana said, "I finished my masters degree last May."

"That's so cool. Seriously," she said and it seemed as though a thought suddenly dawned on Brittany, "Wait. Does that mean that I have to call you 'master' now? 'Cause that's a boundary that I'm not sure I'm ready to cross."

Santana laughed. She knew that a comment like that should make her the slightest bit uncomfortable, but she still laughed.

"No, you don't have to," she answered. "Although, if you'd like to encourage Kurt and Rachel to address me as 'master', please, be my guest."

Brittany smiled, but said nothing. Six fucking Mississippi's. The silences in between their conversation were killing Santana. If she was a magician with long smoking fingers, she now thought, she would be willing to let the past be in order to make these silences go away.

She stretched her arms out hoping to successfully convey that she was extremely tired and as she did so she thought to herself that this was probably the lamest gesture that she had ever made. Even lamer than her and Brittany went to see Mean Girls and she made Brittany hold her hand because she claimed that she was scared of Regina George. Or the time that her mother discovered her collection of _The L Word _dvd's and she told her that Amazon had mistakenly delivered _The L Word _instead of _The Real World. _

"Well, I think I'm just going to head off to bed. If you need anything just help yourself or call or whatever," Santana said, gesturing around the apartment with her right hand.

"You got a tattoo," Brittany said, ignoring Santana's attempt to leave.

"What?" Santana asked confused.

"You got a tattoo," Brittany repeated.

Santana looked down at her right wrist for a second. At the very top of her wrist, just beneath the palm of her hand, black ink made small curves. She had gotten so use to it that she had forgotten that is wasn't always there. She lightly traced over it with the index finger of her left hand.

"Yea," she said, "I did."

"I like it," Brittany said.

Then there was a silence. Brittany didn't say anything and Santana didn't know if she expected her to say anything.

"It isn't English," Brittany said.

Santana wished that the silences would disappear and the more she tried to think of something to say to make it go away the less she could think of anything.

"No," she eventually replied, "it's not English."

The silences seemed to become longer after each time one of them spoke.

"What does it mean?" Brittany finally asked.

Santana looked down at her feet, then at her wrist, and finally down at her feet again. When she finally spoke, she raised her head and looked Brittany straight in the eye.

"It ... uhm ... it means honesty," she said, holding Brittany's gaze for just another second. "Goodnight, Brittany," she then said and started walking towards her bedroom.

_We're not asking you to lie, Santana, we're simply asking you to think. We're thinking about your safety and your future, her mother said. _

_By asking me to lie, she said._

_By asking you to behave like the considerate daughter that we know you are and being a little more discreet, her mother had said. _

_By asking me to lie, she said again. _

_You're tearing this family apart, her mother had said. _

_I'm sorry, Santana said after a long time and her mother kissed the top of her head before walking out of her room. _

"Goodnight, Santana," she heard Brittany say as she walked into her bedroom and closed the door.

Goodnight, Santana. Goodnight, Santana, Goodnight, Santana. The last time that Brittany had said goodnight to her Santana was standing in Brittany's driveway. The driveway had little cracks running through it from the garage down to the sidewalk. Santana remembered wondering why Brittany wasn't crying. Why she wasn't hysterical. Santana wondered why, instead of simply biding her good night, Brittany didn't come running down the driveway as Santana turned to walk to where her car was parked on the street. She wondered why Brittany wasn't running up to her, clinging to her arms, her legs, her waist, anything that she could get a hold of. She wondered briefly why she wasn't running back to Brittany to do all of these things. But then Santana thought that perhaps, as was the case with herself, Brittany was simply waiting until she was out of sight. Maybe she was waiting until she could no longer see Santana, and she was sure that Santana could no longer see her, before she would crumble down and sob. Maybe, Santana had thought, they both just needed a moment before they would collapse to the floor facing the very real possibility of never getting up ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"_Sing something," Brittany said lazily, leaning her head back against her pillow. _

_Santana closed her eyes and thought for a few seconds before she drew a deep breath. She didn't lift her head from the crook of Brittany's arm when she started singing. _

"I don't believe in an interventionist god, but I know darling that you do," _she started, her voice a little sleepy,_ "but if I did I would kneel down and ask him not to intervene when it came to you." _She could feel the fingers of Brittany's left hand gently stroke through her hair as she sang_, "Not to touch a hair on your head, leave you as you are. If he felt he had to direct you then direct you into my arms. Into my arms, o Lord; into my arms, o Lord; into my arms, o Lord, into my arms."

"_But I'm already in your arms," Brittany said once Santana had finished the song. _

"_That's not the point," Santana replied, pressing a kiss to Brittany's arm. _

"_I like you," Brittany said. _

_It made Santana giggle. God, how she loved it and hated it that Brittany could make her giggle. _

"_I like you back," she replied. _

_Santana wasn't sure how long they had been lying on Brittany's bed. Maybe it had been a couple of minutes, maybe a couple of hours. Despite the fact that the buttons of her shirt had come undone during the last hour or so, leaving her chest naked, the late November cold seemed to stay outside and she somehow felt warm against Brittany's body. Warmer even than when she first arrived earlier that afternoon and they sat in front of the fireplace wrapped in coats. To her own surprise Santana had found that these were the moments in their relationship that she enjoyed the most. Simply lying next to Brittany in the late afternoon, talking about this and that. Occasionally they would drift off to sleep and later Santana would wake up, only to find that Brittany was still there, still holding her. _

"_So," Brittany drew out the word as she traced her finger down the delicate silver chain around Santana's neck and eventually pressing a forefinger against the heart pendent that rested against Santana's chest, "I was thinking that, with everyone now knowing about us and everything and Christmas coming up ..." she drummed her middle and forefinger against the pendant a few times, "we should totally do something."_

"_What do you mean?" Santana asked, bringing her own hand up to her chest and linking her fingers with Brittany's. She brought their hands to her lips and gently kissed the tips of each of Brittany's fingers. _

"_I mean," Brittany explained, "that couples, real couples, they do stuff together ... like ... during holidays and stuff, right? So I was thinking that we should do something. Together, like a real couple. So I talked to my parents and I know how your family always spends Christmas Eve together and you all go to midnight mass and stuff, but we thought that maybe, just if you wanted to, that maybe you could spend Christmas day with us."_

"_I love you," Santana simply replied. _

"_Is that a yes?" Brittany asked, raising an eyebrow._

"_I'd love to," Santana said, trying to ignore the berating voice in her head that chastised for making a promise that she knew she would break. The voice that reminded her a little too much of her own mother's and spoke of family values and priorities and the debilitating effect of alternative lifestyles. She silenced the voice by leaning in for a kiss and as she did she tried to ignore how she already knew that she would soon have to tell Brittany that she couldn't spend Christmas with her. She'd have to tell Brittany that she couldn't spend Christmas with her for no other reason than, despite the fact that she had no real reason to hide their relationship from anyone anymore, she knew that she wouldn't be able to tell her family that she wanted to spend the holidays with the girl she loved. _

_Santana broke their kiss and turned over to reach for her phone on Brittany's nightstand. Twenty nine minutes past five, the clock on her phone read. _

"_Fuck!" Santana said, putting her phone down again, "I need to go! Fuck, fuck, fuck."_

"_Stay," Brittany said, the edges of her mouth curling into a slight smile. _

"_Fuck, Britt, I can't," Santana said, getting up from the bed. "I need to get home," she continued apologetically while buttoning up her shirt. _

"_But it's not even six o' clock yet," Brittany said, looking a little confused. _

"_I know," Santana looked out the window as she spoke, "it's just that my parents have been kinda on edge with everything that's happened lately and I just don't want to have any more issues or fights or whatever."_

"_But you said that everything was fine. You said they were cool with you and us and everything," Santana wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. _

"_It's just a lot for them to take in, you know? I mean, they were ... they are cool with everything; they said that they were, but I suppose it going to take a while to get use to the idea. They're just looking out for me," Santana said as she gathered her shoes from across the room where she had kicked them out before and started looking around for her keys. _

"_Why don't they just love you? That would be enough," said Brittany, who was now sitting upright on her bed._

_Santana sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked over to her phone again. Thirty six minutes past five. _

"_They do love me; it's just been so hard on everyone. I mean, it's hard enough to have to hear that your kid is gay, but then having to deal, on top of that, with the fact that your child is gay and it's suddenly broadcasted for the whole of Ohio to see. I guess it just takes some getting used to and I'm just trying to give them the space to do that," Santana said, tightening the laces of one of her sneakers and then moving to the other foot to repeat the process._

"_But, honey, it's all happening to you to. You're the one who's gay. You're the one who had to come out. It's your face that was on that ad, not theirs. They should be worrying about you, not the other way around," Brittany said. _

"_They do worry about me, Britt," Santana said, turning around to run a thumb along Brittany's right cheek. "But I'm fine, really. They love me and you love me and that's really all I need." _

"_So then stay," Brittany said again, reaching out to take Santana's hand, "Come on, text your mom and tell her that you'll stay over here tonight. It's been forever since we've spent more than three or four hours together. Please. _

_Santana let go of Brittany's hand as she stood up from the bed. She walked across the room and stood by the window. From where she stood by the window she could see the Pierces' old Honda and behind it her own car. She looked down at her hands and wondered for a second what would happen if she did stay. She wondered what would happen if they got in her car, just her and Brittany, and they left. To go away. To anywhere but here. And stayed there instead. _

"_I can't stay, Brittany," Santana said softly, not looking away from the window. "I didn't tell my mom that I was coming over here." _

_There were a few moments of silence before she could hear Brittany's footsteps coming towards where she was standing. Then she felt Brittany's body behind her own and she leaned back a bit as she felt Brittany's arms wrapping around her body. _

"_Why didn't you tell her?" Brittany asked as she rested her chin on Santana's shoulder. _

"_I don't know," Santana said. "I just feel like every time I mention your name everything goes cold for a second. Nobody says anything, but I can feel it. I don't know, it just feels like everyone is playing some kind of weird game and nobody ever told me the rules. And ... like ... I'm trying to figure it out, but I'm not sure I understand anymore."_

"_And one of the rules is not mentioning me? Or us?" Brittany asked. She didn't sound angry. Or sad. Somehow that made Santana feel even worse. _

"_I'm not sure," she answered softly, "maybe. Maybe just for now, just for a while." _

* * *

During the first month of their new living arrangement, Santana had successfully managed to mostly avoid Brittany. On Friday evenings she would tell Rachel that she'd be studying in the library. On Saturday mornings she'd get up while it was still dark outside and she'd sneak out, not looking at a sleeping Brittany as she passed the-couch-that-was-now-Brittany's-bed, hoping that everyone would assume that she'd taken up jogging again. She'd then return late morning, when she was sure that Brittany would already be at rehearsal. Then she'd leave again just after one for her weekly late lunch with her friend, Helen. Her Saturday nights she had been spending at the cocktail bar on the corner of 32nd and 7th Streets, sitting quietly sipping martinis and waiting until the early hours of the morning before returning the their apartment. On Sunday mornings she would once again sneak out early, waiting outside for the small bakery three blocks down to open. She'd sit down at one of the tables outside, drinking coffee and reading the Sunday papers. Later she would order some pastries to take away and take a long walk through the park; sitting down by the fountain and eating her pastries, before she would finally return home early evening, knowing full well that Brittany would have already left for the airport. Although it was quite a strenuous routine to keep up and she could usually feel the effect of the late nights and early mornings catch up with her by Tuesday, Santana was determined to see as little as possible of Brittany during her stay with them. And thus far she'd managed to do just that, barring one early Saturday morning when she ran into a sleepy Brittany outside the bathroom.

One the fifth Saturday morning, as she opened the door after returning from - what she hoped everyone would believe to be – a long morning ran, she saw Rachel sitting in the middle of the living room floor with what looked to be a variety of paint in front of her. _Zocko's Multipurpose Face Paints_, the logo on one of the tubes said.

"I need your help," Rachel said, not looking up, but picking up a paintbrush that lay beside her.

Santana walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water (which she hoped would enforce the idea that she was now a serious jogger), before she sat herself down on a chair opposite Rachel and finally replying. "Look, Berry, I sure you're a very nice girl and yes, when I'm drunk I sometimes find you mildly attractive, but I just don't think that we'll ever work," she said, taking another sip of water.

"I'm not even going to respond to your crude attempts at humour, Santana," Rachel said, setting the paintbrush down again and looking at Santana, "other than by once again confirming to you my fierce and deep emotional commitment with regards to my relationship with Finn. What I need your help with, however, is this," Rachel said and picked up another brush.

Santana merely shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows in question.

"A few artists and performers, including yours truly, are doing children's sing-a-long at the park later this afternoon – you know how strongly I feel about giving back to the community – and Christopher and I felt that an animal theme would be uplifting. I need you to do my face," Rachel said.

"Okay, first of all, do your face? I mean that's just wanky. And second, who the hell is Christopher?" Santana replied.

"Christopher is the lovely man who is in charge of events and recreation at the park," Rachel explained, "such a great lover of the arts. And I meant, as I'm sure you well understood, that you need to help me apply my face paint. I was thinking that I should go as a cheetah, because I still have that costume from when I did _The Lion King_, but I've been having trouble with the colour. My attempts at blending a cheetah-yellow are either too brown or too mustardy."

"Let me see," Santana said, leaning over to look at the various shapes and colours of face paint that Rachel had in front of her.

As she was about to take a brush and a tube of light brown paint from Rachel, she heard the front door open and looked up. A few seconds later Brittany came into the living room and threw her backpack down next to the couch. She was wearing sweats and a pair of Nike's that looked very similar to the shoes that Santana remembered Brittany always wore to dance classes. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.

"Hey guys," she said, walking over to the closet under the stairs and retrieving what Santana assumed to be some clean clothes.

"Hi," Santana heard herself say.

She then heard the bathroom door close and a few seconds later she could hear the shower running.

"Why is she here so early?" Santana asked Rachel in a low whisper.

"Because they only had rehearsal until eleven today," Rachel said, "Which just goes to show that, had you gone through the trouble of actually looking at the calendar in the kitchen that I regularly update, without any thanks I might add, you would be perfectly up to date with the comings and goings of the members of this household. And then you would have known to keep hiding wherever it is that you hide during the weekends," Rachel said and Santana tried to ignore the fact that she'd obviously been called out on her non-presence over the past few weekends. "

"That reminds me," Rachel continued before Santana could think of anything to say, "Someone named Nicole came by looking for you this morning. She asked if your phone was broken and said that she'd come by again later."

"For fuck's sakes," Santana exclaimed, rolling her eyes, "some people just can't take a fucking hint. Well, if she comes by again, would you please be a darling and tell her that I moved to Argentina? Listen Rachel, I need to get going," she said, noticing that the shower had stopped running and realising that Brittany would be out any second.

"Santana!" Rachel hissed, "I'm not telling her that you moved to Argentina and you can't leave; you need to paint my face!"

"Then tell her I died," Santana said, shrugging.

"What? I can't do that," Rachel said, shaking her head.

"Sure you can. Tell her that I was bitten by a spider, it got infected and septic and they just couldn't save me. Or even better, tell her that I jumped in front of a cab to save a little boy. And an old lady. And a cripple. And then I was hit by the cab and unfortunately it was fatal," Santana said, "And tell her that, just before I let out my final breath on this earth, I said that my last wish was for her to stop talking in such a nasal, high pitched fucking voice."

"Santana, not only is that extremely insensitive when one considers the numbers of people who loses their lives daily; it is also extremely insensitive towards those who have had to deal with the death of a loved one. Moreover, it also implicates me in your, may I say somewhat skewed and corrupted, moral code. And while I for one am of the strong opinion that one ought not to engage in meaningless sexual relations, I also firmly insist that, should one choose to engage in such activities, one ought to confront any consequences that said activities may have."

"I totally agree with you," Santana said nodding, "and I am dealing with the consequences by asking you to please tell her that I died. You know what would be even better, we should go down to that guy that always sits by the subway and sells sick notes to the students. I used to buy sick notes from him all the time; I'm sure he could get us a death certificate for, like, under $10."

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Santana. And I'm not telling anybody that you've died."

"Fine, whatever. Don't be my friend, but I really have to go," Santana said, and started to get up, "Oh, and could you let Kurt and the others know to be here tonight at around eight?"

"But what about my face?" Rachel asked.

Before Santana could reply or make any further attempts to leave, the bathroom door opened and Brittany walked out.

"I'm going to go to my room and quickly sort out my costume," Rachel said, "and then you can quickly do my face. I won't take long," she said and started walking up the stairs towards her room. Santana stood still for a moment, contemplating her next move.

"Can we talk?" Brittany suddenly asked from behind her and Santana silently cursed Rachel.

"Sure, I'm actually just on my way to go meet a friend though, so maybe ..." Santana said and started looking for her keys.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Brittany asked, looking at Santana questioningly.

"No, why would I do that?" Santana asked and continued to move around the living room, hoping that she would seem extremely occupied.

"I don't know," Brittany said, "it's just that I've been here every weekend for like a month and I've only seen you like twice. It's almost like you don't even live here."

"Well, I'm really busy, so I'm not here a lot," Santana shrugged.

"Yea, I know," Brittany said, nodding, "I see you sneak out in the morning though. And I'm just wondering if you're doing it to avoid me. Because you literally leave every morning before dawn and at night you either come back when everyone is asleep already."

"I don't really understand what it is that you want from me, Brittany," Santana said, finally giving up on her attempts to seem busy and turning to Brittany.

"I don't really know either," Brittany said, "I guess I just wanted to say that ... I ... I just don't us to be weird around each other. I mean, we could just be civil, right? I don't want to feel like I'm making you feel that you aren't welcome in your own home or that you should avoid me or anything."

"It's fine, really, I'm cool," Santana said.

"Really? You sure?" Brittany asked looking a little suspicious.

"What do you want me to say, Brittany? It's just fucking hard for me!" Santana said a little harsher than she intended.

"And you think that this was easy for me?" Brittany said, taking a step closer to Santana, "Do you think I'm enjoying this? Being here? Do you think that this is how I imagined my life to be like? Spending my weekends on my ex's couch for $120 a month? Well, it's not!"

Santana flinched when Brittany said the word 'ex'. In her mind she felt as if though there ought to be a better word for what they were. Something that didn't merely group them with millions of other people in the world who had been in relationships and now weren't anymore. A word that indicated that they weren't like all of those other people. That they were somehow different, that what they had had somehow been more special.

"Just ... don't, Brittany," Santana began.

"No, don't you 'don't' me," Brittany continued, "Do you really expect everyone to act as if though everyone had forgotten about us? Did you expect me to come here and not acknowledge what we had? To act as though I can't tell when you're uncomfortable? As though you and I are simply old high school acquaintances who may or may not remember each other if they bump into one another at the Star Bucks or something?" Brittany's voice became a little louder as she spoke.

"What do you fucking want from me, Brittany?" Santana suddenly felt anger creeping under her skin. Up and up, she felt it climbing, and any moment now, she knew, it would reach the surface and come bursting through her mouth, "I don't understand. Do you want me to go to my room and get all of my old photo albums so that we could page through them and remember how happy we were? Do you want to talk about the good old times over a glass of wine?" Santana asked, her eyebrows creasing, "Because I'm sorry if I'm feeling the slightest bit of discomfort with you being around all of a sudden. A feeling that, by the looks of it, you are completely unfamiliar with!"

"You don't know anything about me, Santana!" Brittany said. There was a coldness in her voice that Santana had only ever heard once before.

"You don't think I know that?" Santana retorted, shaking her head.

"You don't know how hard it's been! You don't know what it felt like going through high school without anyone caring. You don't know what it feels like when everyone you meet just assumes that you're an idiot, because you don't understand why two minuses make a plus and not a super minus. Without a single person taking the time to ask what I wanted; what I wanted to do!"

"That is not fucking true! I cared! And I listened!" Santana felt her throat burning as her chest tightened.

_I just don't understand, help me understand - why can't you just leave it be, Santana, her mother asked._

_Because I love her more than anything else in this world, Santana said._

_More than your own mother, your own father, your blood family, her mother asked and Santana looked away. _

"You don't think I remember? Which is exactly why I thought that you'd at least try to be civil. I thought that, out of all the people in the world, you'd be the one person who would be happy for me. That you of all people would understand how hard it's been for me to finally start thinking about me and do something that I love instead of just floating around and letting my life go by. And it took me years," Brittany's speech suddenly slowed down and she accentuated every word she spoke, "It took me fucking years to finally pluck up the courage to find something that I wanted to do and actually do it. And all I'm asking is that you stop thinking about yourself and your own discomfort and just allow me this one moment. One moment. So can you just give me that? At least try. Can't we just at least be, like, friends or something?"

"Fine," Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest, "Do you want to be my friend, Brittany?"

"Don't do that, Santana," Brittany said softly.

"No," Santana continued, "that's what you've always wanted, right? To be my best friend in the whole world? So would you like that now? You wanna be my _friend_?" Santana dragged out the last word and gave another step closer to Brittany so that they were less than an arm's length from one another, "Do you want to go shopping with me and try on nice clothes and then get lunch and have sleepovers and spend hours on the phone talking about the boys we like?"

"You don't like boys," Brittany almost whispered.

"Oh yes, that's right," Santana said sarcastically, "I don't like boys, do I? Well, doesn't that just land us in a pickle? So why just I tell you about the girls that I like? Would you like that? So last week I met this fine little number called at a club down town - smoking hot, I tell you. Natasha or Nicole or something, I don't know. So I bring her home and the next morning, you know what I find out, Britt? She likes skim milk; I like full cream. Such a dilemma, I tell you."

"Don't," Brittany merely repeated.

"But I thought," Santana said and brought her hand to her heart, "that we were talking? The way friends talk, share, you know? I thought ... aren't we the bestest of friends? Don't you want to be my _friend_, Britt-Britt?"

"I'd like that," Brittany said as she gave a step back and picked up her backpack from next to the couch. "I'd really, really like that," she repeated before she left the room and Santana heard the front door slam shut.

"Fuck," Santana muttered. She stood still in the living room until she felt sure that Brittany had really left. She slowly walked the few steps to her bedroom and retrieved a packet of cigarettes before walking out the door. She walked down the hallway and opened the door that led to the fire escape.

Sitting down on the red steps she lit a cigarette and inhaled. "Fuck," she muttered again as she exhaled and watched the smoke slowly form a little cloud before gradually disappearing. Her fingers picked at a scrap of paint that was peeling from the step that she was sitting on. She looked up when she heard the door open.

"Do you need a tissue?" Rachel asked, poking her head out the door and waving a box of Kleenex, but not stepping outside.

"I'm not fucking crying, hobbit," Santana said and continued to pick at the paint.

After a moment's contemplation Rachel stepped outside and sat down next to Santana.

"Mrs. Carey wanted me to let you know," Rachel said as she settled down and put the box of Kleenex between her and Santana, "that if you fall from up here the insurance isn't going to cover any injuries you may have or damages to the premises."

"Maybe I'll jump just to piss her off then," Santana said, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"That's not funny, Santana," Rachel said, shifting around uncomfortably.

"So I'm guessing you heard everything," Santana said, looking down at the people walking up and down in the street below.

"It is true that I have excellent hearing – it is part of the reason that I have perfect pitch – and yes, I therefore tend to hear most things that are said in our apartment. Consequently I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Brittany just now," Rachel answered, "And may I say, Santana, that you were being incredibly unfair towards Brittany, while she was merely extending a hand of friendship."

"I am such a fucking idiot," Santana said, lighting another cigarette, "I swear to God I make fucking Jenny Schecter look like a poster child for sanity!"

"While I'm sure that you are making sense in your own head, I'm not sure that I am following you at all," Rachel said, looking a little confused, "although I will agree that it is true that you have an unbelievable ability to behave - how to put this delicately? – a little _tactless _and _insensitive _at the very best of times. Are you sure you don't need a Kleenex?" Rachel asked again, pointing to the box of tissues.

"Jesus Christ, Rachel, I said no!" Santana said, "I just can't believe that I was such a fucked up bitch! No, actually, I can. I can totally believe that I was. I just can't believe that ... Brittany, of all people. I always thought that she would be the one person who I would never treat like that," she continued. She shifted her cigarette from her left hand to her right in order to reach out and take a tissue. She was grateful that Rachel didn't say anything when she gently wiped her eyes.

"You could always apologise?" Rachel suggested, waving away some of the smoke that Santana had just exhaled. "You know Brittany, she'll probably understand. She knows it's been hard on you having her here."

"But that's exactly it!" Santana said, getting up and leaning against the railing. "She's Brittany, so she'll understand and she'll be nice and that's exactly why it's so fucked up. I was being so mean and she was absolutely right. I have been avoiding her. I've been getting up at half past five every fucking weekend, sitting at the fucking 24/7 McDonald's on 4th Street, waiting for the sun to come up, just so that I wouldn't have to run in to her in the mornings. Last week I spent my Saturday evening talking to that weird Lebanese coupling downstairs about the possibility of growing artificial lemongrass until I saw that the light in the living room went out, because I was afraid that I would come home and she'd still be awake and I'd have to talk to her."

"I feel that I also have to apologise, Santana" Rachel said and Santana went to sit next to her again, "I shouldn't have pressured you into agreeing to a living situation with which you weren't a hundred percent comfortable. I should have realised that I only had my own, and of course Brittany's, interest at heart and I ought to have realised that this would have a severe impact on you as well."

"It's not your fault," Santana sighed, "well, maybe a little bit, but it's mainly because I'm an idiot and a bitch. And because I can't be a normal human being with the ability to open my fucking mouth when I'm scared or hurt or whatever. I swear to God, sometimes I think I'm like Pinocchio or something and my whole heart and soul and everything are made of wood or something."

"Would you like a hug now?" Rachel asked.

"Jesus, no," Santana said.

"Are you quite sure?" Rachel asked again.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Santana said, throwing her hands in the air. They sat like that for another minute or so, next to one another, neither speaking.

"Maybe just a little one," Santana then said and leaned her head against Rachel's shoulder as Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's shoulders.

"I'm a terrible friend," Santana said as Rachel pulled away.

"Yes, you are," Rachel said, standing up, "you are a horrible friend. Now let's go. I really need you to come paint my face, because I need to leave in half an hour."

"I'm coming," Santana said, standing up and wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Oh, and you know the worst thing?" Santana asked when Rachel had already reached the door. Rachel turned around and gave her a questioning look.

"The worst thing," Santana said and she wasn't sure if she was really speaking to Rachel as much as she was speaking to herself, "the very worst fucking thing is that, even though there were so many things that I could have been thinking – a million things that I _should_ have been thinking – she stormed out of the apartment and you know what I was thinking while she was storming out? I was thinking, 'Jesus, she looks hot when she's mad!' A million fucking possibilities and that is the thought that crosses my mind," she said, while opening the door and not waiting for Rachel's reply before heading back inside.

* * *

Santana methodically kneaded the piece of dough on the counter in front of her. Occasionally, when she felt the dough sticking to the countertop, she would take another hand full of flour and scatter it over the counter. She lightly bopped her head to the rhythm of the music on her iPod. She felt one of the buds slipping from her ear and as she lifted her hand to put it back in place, she noticed Brittany leaning against the doorway.

She had no clue how long Brittany had been standing there. Brittany was smiling and Santana had no idea why. It wasn't an overjoyed or ecstatic kind of smile; it was a content kind of smile. The type of smile that would merely play around the corners of once mouth as one looked back on a piece of completed work or perhaps after a satisfactory meal. Maybe, Santana thought to herself, it was because Brittany remembered that the most sure-fire way to stir any feelings of guilt in her was to simply happily continue as though noting ever happened. To act perfectly normal and maybe add a nice gesture or two. Brittany must have remembered that, Santana thought, and would now punish her by being extra nice.

"I like your shirt," Brittany said.

Santana took the iPod from her ears and looked down at the black t-shirt that she was wearing. _I Love __Kant, _it said. She silently wondered if Brittany understood the pun. With Brittany, Santana had learned long ago, one could never simply assume what she knew and what she didn't. When they were in high school, she remembered, Brittany would often start reciting the most random of facts without the blink of an eye. She glanced down at her shirt again. It was one of her older shirts and instead of an apron; she always wore it when cooking.

It's because I'm a fucking loser like that, she thought.

"It's because I'm cool like that," she said.

"Sure you are," Brittany said, and Santana couldn't quite figure out if she was making fun of her.

"Listen, Brittany, about this morning ... I'm sorry," Santana began.

"You should be sorry," Brittany replied, "that was really harsh."

"I know," Santana said and she knew that, if it was anybody else, she would've launched into some elaborate justification that excused her behaviour. But because it was Brittany she just nodded her head. She quietly walked over to where her bag stood on one of the chairs. From the bag she took a packet of M&M's and held it out to Brittany. "I got this for you to say I'm sorry."

"This doesn't make it right though," Brittany said, but took the packet from her none the less.

"I know it doesn't. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry. Are you still mad at me?" Santana asked apprehensively.

Brittany sighed. "A bit, but the M&M's makes it a little better," she said and when Santana looked up Brittany flashed her a hesitant smile, "And I know it's been hard for you too. Just don't do it again."

"I'm sorry," Santana repeated, "And I do want you to be happy, I really do."

"I know," Brittany said, and then, seemingly wanting to change the topic, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking," Santana said and continued her kneading.

"But it's like four in the afternoon. And there's nothing on the stove," Brittany said. Her eyes widened for a second. "Oh my god, Rachel didn't convert you to only eating salads and roots and stuff, did she? Because I've been thinking and I've been convinced for a while now that it's contagious. So be careful. Also, I think that it makes you evolve backwards. Have you seen how short Rachel's thumbs are?" Brittany asked seriously and Santana smiled at her, "I'm telling you; she's evolving backwards."

"Well that would explain why she's dating a creature that is known to not be part of the homo sapien species," Santana said.

"I've never really gotten the impression that Finn is part of homo anything," Brittany shrugged, "but apparently only about ten percent of all people are, so I guess that makes sense. Do you need any help?"

"Yea, sure," Santana said, breaking the piece of dough in two and motioning for Brittany to join her at the counter. "Knead this," she said, using the piece of dough in her own hands to demonstrate.

"Like this?" Brittany asked, gently playing with the piece of dough between her hands.

"Just like that," Santana nodded.

"What are we making?" Brittany said as she drew out the piece of dough between her two hands.

"Pasta," Santana said, scattering a bit of flour on the surface where Brittany as now working. "Kurt forced me into this thing he calls "Club Supper", which is basically just the collective noun for a bunch of gays and Rachel. We meet every first Saturday evening of the month to have dinner at someone else's house. Tonight is my turn."

"Oh," Brittany said, "so that's why Kurt said I should make sure I was here for dinner tonight! I thought that maybe he was trying to date me again. Which is a little gross."

"Kurt invited you?" Santana asked.

"Yea," Brittany said, looking a little hurt, "but, I mean if you're not cool with that I could just get something or like hang somewhere."

"No, no, no, no," Santana said and smiled, "I'm glad he did. That's awesome."

"Cool," Brittany said, throwing the piece of dough into the air and catching it again, "but why are we making dough if you're gonna make pasta?"

"Because Kurt's annoying friends, Jean-Luc and Jean-Pierre, hosted last time and they served these ridiculously flamboyant little chicken pies with home-made puff pastry. So I'm one upping them and making the pasta myself."

"Seriously? You're making it yourself?" Brittany asked sceptically.

"Sure, I am," Santana said, taking the piece of dough from Brittany and wrapping it in a small plastic bag. She walked over to the fridge, put the bag on one of the shelves and grabbed an identical looking bag from another. She then opened one of the cabinets and took out a silver pasta maker. She could feel Brittany's eyes follow her as she moved around the room. She set the silver piece of equipment on the counter where Brittany was still standing.

"This," she said, wiggling her eyebrows and pointing the piece of refrigerated dough in her hands, "was the first batch I made. Now comes the fun part. You want to cut this?" Santana asked, putting the fist sized ball of dough and a knife in front of Brittany.

"Like this?" Brittany asked and cut a small slither off the side of the ball of dough.

"Like this," Santana said and leaned over to take the knife from Brittany. As she leaned over, she could smell honey and flowers mixed with a smell that she recognised as distinctly _Brittany_. She took the knife and lightly traced some lines with it that would show Brittany how to cut the ball into quarters. She leaned back and gave the knife back to Brittany. While Brittany carefully cut the small ball into quarters Santana looked away until she could feel her own ragged breaths slowly return to normal.

"So," Brittany said, looking over to Santana, "you and Rachel as roomies, huh?"

"I know, right? It's so ridiculously ridiculous that I can't even. But, I mean, she still alive and she has all of her limbs, so I guess it works on some level," Santana said, taking one of the quarters in her hand and flattening it a bit, "We're going to put this through here now," she continued and put the dough in between two pieces of silver metal, slowly turning the lever on the left side of the apparatus.

Brittany gave a step closer – and Santana smelled flowers and honey and Brittany again - to watch the pasta dough emerge from the other side.

"You have to put it through here like this a few times," Santana said, gesturing to where the sheet of pasta just emerged, "so that it's thin enough to cut into whichever type of pasta you want. See?" she said and repeated the process. Brittany merely watched closely, not saying anything.

"Do you want to hold your hands over here to catch it when it comes out the other side?" Santana asked when the sheet of pasta grew too long and thin for her to turn the lever and catch the sheet.

Brittany nodded and looked at Santana, smiling for a second, before she used both of her hands to catch the thin sheet. Santana watched closely as Brittany's hands (so different from her own, milky white and slender, she thought) worked to hold the thinning sheet up.

"You have a little ... uhm ..." Santana leaned forward and ran her finger over Brittany's forehead. "It's ... uhm ... it's a bit of flour or something," she said and looked down at the white that now coated her finger.

"Thanks," Brittany said, smiling again. "So this dinner club thing, it's every month?" she asked while looking down at the sheet of pasta in her hands.

"Yea, every first Saturday," Santana said, "You can just put that that one over on the table for now," she then continued, pointing to the sheet of pasta in Brittany's hands, "I always roll out everything before cutting."

"So maybe I could join this dinner club too then? Since I'm going to be here for a while? If the requirements aren't too strict or anything," Brittany said, carefully laying the sheet down on the table, "If you'd let me use the kitchen I could make something too once."

"Yea? But I thought you always said that you hated cooking?" Santana asked curiously and wiped her hands on her shirt.

"I hate baking, but I can cook though," Brittany said as though it was the most obvious thing in the entire world, "It's two entirely different things. I'm like an awesome cook."

"Really?" Santana looked amused, "So you're a secret gourmet cook, huh? So how is it that I've never eaten anything of yours then?"

"I'm pretty sure you have," Brittany said seriously with a slight frown.

And as she slowly grasped the innuendo of both her own words and Brittany's retort Santana turned around and wiped her hands on her shirt again, pretending not to see the smirk that once again crept across Brittany's mouth and ignoring the way that a flutter somewhere between her heart and her stomach had made her breath ragged once more.

* * *

_Santana sings Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It had been six weekends. A month and a half. Forty two days all together. Eighteen days if she only counted the Friday evening to Sunday afternoons. Forty two days since Santana had first walked in to see Brittany sitting on the couch in her apartment. Eighteen days that she'd walked around knowing that Brittany was in her apartment on the exact same day; that she was eating, sleeping, showering, dreaming, dressing, living right there. Technically speaking, she'd only actually seen Brittany on about six of those days though. After their confrontation on the fifth weekend of Brittany's stay, Santana had carefully orchestrated her comings and goings during the following weekend so that she wouldn't come across as avoiding Brittany, while still being nonchalant and not seeming over-eager to spend time with her. She had popped in on Friday evening, exchanging a few words with Brittany on her way to the kitchen; and had a conversation with Brittany and Rachel about the concept of blacklists for disrespectful theatre goers on Sunday morning. She tried to glance over to Brittany a few times during these conversations to try and establish whether Brittany shared some of the discomfort that she still felt herself. Brittany, however, seemed engaged with whomever she was conversing and appeared unfazed by Santana's presence.

On the Friday afternoon of Brittany's seventh weekend in the city, Santana walked out of their apartment building and slowly made her way towards the coffee house two blocks down.

"Santana!" she heard a familiar – too familiar, she thought - voice call and she allowed herself a second before turning around to respond.

Brittany was waving from the opposite side of the street, gesturing for Santana to wait. Santana waved back feebly as she stood on the sidewalk and watched Brittany make her way to the other side of the road.

"Hey," Brittany said a little out of breath when she finally reached Santana.

"Hey," Santana said, not really knowing what else to say. During the last few weeks she felt increasingly annoyed by her own inability to converse whenever Brittany was around. She would remember the way they used to talk about the most insignificant things and find herself wondering why, all of a sudden, she couldn't even think of insignificant topics that she could bring up to avoid these awkward silences.

"Where are you going?" Brittany asked, leaning backwards slightly and balancing on her heels.

"Coffee," Santana replied simply and gestured in the direction of the coffee house. She was trying to think of something more to say, but once again she couldn't think of a single actor, singer, or recent scandal to bring up. "I like walking outside this time of the year, the weather's always nice," she said accordingly, silently reminding herself that it might be better to be quiet than to talk about the weather.

"Can I join you?" Brittany asked hesitantly and Santana immediately heard an inner-Santana asking why the hell she didn't do the obviously polite thing and invite Brittany along from the start.

_Because then I'd have to talked to her again_, she silently told the inner-Santana.

"Sure," she replied, "come on."

They were already halfway to the coffee house when Santana remembered that the reason that she'd never run into Brittany during her afternoon coffee runs, was that Brittany was only suppose to arrive on Friday evenings.

"You're early today," she stated, turning her head towards Brittany.

"Yea," Brittany said, looking up at the buildings around them, "I'm not teaching this week and I had to come do a fitting sometime in any case, so I just flew in this morning."

Santana nodded and picked up her pace as she felt Brittany's hand brushing against her own. She silently pointed towards the coffee house as they came closer and wordlessly held the door open for her before following Brittany inside. She was thankful that she had remembered to ask how Brittany's week was while they were standing in line. She was also thankful - although she didn't really understand why - when she noticed that Brittany still had the same coffee order.

"Rachel said that you two sometimes still perform together. She said something about a regular Thursday night slot?" Brittany asked when they sat down on a bench outside the coffee house, "I was thinking – I'm going to be here during the week in January – and maybe I could come and listen to you guys then?"

Santana frowned a little in confusion as she mulled over Brittany's question in her head; then it suddenly struck her.

"You mean _Gentlemen's Paradise Karaoke Pub_?" she laughed. "I wouldn't exactly call that a 'regular performance slot', although I'm sure Rachel would disagree. But it's true that she sometimes drags me there on Thursday nights and gets me tipsy so that I'll sing with her," Santana said. Brittany smiled and Santana noticed how the laugh lines around her mouth were slightly more pronounced than she remembered. "You see that corner over there?" she then asked.

Brittany just nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

"In my youth," Santana said dramatically, "I had, like, no money pretty often and I would be too proud to phone my parents and ask them. So I'd just come here and I'd stand on that corner busking until I had enough money to pull me through."

Brittany's hand shot to her mouth in horror. "Oh my god, Santana," she finally said cautiously, "you were a prostitute?"

"What?" It took Santana a few seconds to understand. "No, no," she said when she finally understood, "Busking. It's when you play music on the street for money. I'd bring my guitar and put the case in front of me and I'd play and sing and people would give me money."

"You play guitar?" Brittany asked and Santana suddenly remembered the reason that she learned to play the instrument in the first place.

"Yea," Santana nodded, "In my first year of college, I ... uh ... one of my friends, she suggested that I take up an instrument to... uhm ... to help me take my mind off other things," she wondered if Brittany knew that _other things_ was an euphemistic way of referring to their failed relationship, "And we figured that the guitar would be easiest to learn. So I bought one second hand from some guy on campus and I went for a few lessons. Turns out it's kinda easy to learn."

"What kind of music would you play?" Brittany asked curiously.

"Anything really," Santana said, now regretting that she'd brought up the topic. Her mind was suddenly swarming with memories of cold winter mornings playing the blues on the corner that she was now staring at. "Sometimes people would ask me to play something specifically or whatever."

"That's really cool," Brittany said.

"Yea," she looked down towards the corner and Brittany suddenly felt unbearably near and incredibly far simultaneously, "there was this one song that I always used to play. I would just sing it all the time and there was this guy who worked at the coffee house – I never even knew his name, but he's girlfriend had just dumped him," god, why was she still talking about this, she thought, "and whenever I played it he would come out and just sit down flat on the pavement in front of me and listen to me sing."

Brittany and Santana sat in silence for a minute or two. Santana stared down the block as though half expecting the coffee house's door to open and reveal her nameless co-heartbroken friend. As though he'd come walking out at any moment and pass her; they'd nod in greeting and both would wonder if the other ended up okay.

"Will you sing it for me?" Brittany asked, breaking the silence. "The song?"

"Maybe sometime," Santana said apprehensively. She took Brittany's empty coffee holder and reached over to throw it in the trash can a few feet away from her.

"So is that the kind of music that you study now? Like you used to play?" Brittany asked.

"Not really, no," she said. "Back then I used to play a lot of singer/songwriter stuff, you know? The stuff that I do now is focussed more on the lyrics and where they come from and so on. And how the meanings relate to the people who wrote them in a specific place on a specific time."

"It sounds confusing," Brittany said.

"It is confusing sometimes," Santana said, "but I guess that's the point. That other people's lives are confusing to us, you know? I remember when I was little and my _abuela _would visit us, she'd sometimes put me to bed at night and she'd sing these strange Spanish lullabies that I didn't know or really understand. But she would get so emotional while singing them to me and so one night I asked her why she was crying. And I remember that she hugged me tightly and she told me that she was crying, because people here didn't understand. Back then I thought that she meant she was sad that people didn't understand the language and that she was sad that they couldn't understand what she was singing."

"What do you think now?" Brittany asked.

"I think that she meant people didn't understand _her_. That she was in this strange country where everything was different, you know? So when I got to college and I finally got my act together I took this course on different types and forms of music from all over the word and it reminded me of those night with my _abuela_ and how I didn't understand.I suddenly realised that there were so many people all over the world and they were all different. I guess it somehow made me feel better to know that, in a way, all people are different. And music is an awesome way for me to explore those differences. It's not always about Amy and Adele; there are a lot of other things out there, you know?"

"No, it's always about Adele," Brittany said seriously. "How is she?"

"Adele?" Santana asked confusedly.

"Your _abuela_," Brittany said.

"She's old," Santana said, leaning back against the bench, "and she's been sick a lot lately. I haven't really seen her much in the last few years, but each time I see her it's like she gotten ten years older. I sometimes phone. It's getting harder though, because her hearing's been getting worse."

"Is she still with your uncle in Connecticut?" Brittany asked.

Santana nodded.

"Why don't you see her?" Brittany asked.

If it were anybody but Brittany, Santana would have blown them off. "It's just complicated," she said, because it was Brittany who asked, "I mean, it's far and I don't really leave the city all that often and ... it's complicated."

"Oh," Brittany simply said. They sat in silence for a minute or two, before Brittany spoke again. "Does she -"

"No," Santana said before Brittany could finish her question, "she doesn't."

"Listen, Santana, I have to go, but I'll see you tonight, okay?" Brittany got up, "Thanks for the coffee!" She starting walking in the direction of the subway, but turned around after a few steps, "This was nice; we should do it again sometime."

Santana felt her mouth curve into a small smile as she watched Brittany cross the street and disappear into the crowd. She sat on the bench for a while longer, looking at passersby's and thinking about her _abuela's _lullabies. Eventually she took out her phone and stared at the screen for a while before quickly typing and then pressing the send button.

_It really was nice - we should do it again._

Then she got up and started walking without any specific goal or destination in mind.

* * *

Santana climbed the stairs to their apartment two at a time. Brittany's silence in response to her text had considerably altered her mood. She'd spent the afternoon walking around the city, constantly checking her phone for a reply. As dusk was setting, however, she slowly made her way home. Walking back to the apartment she yelled at an overweight young couple for taking up too much space on the sidewalk. She also had a long argument with Mrs. Carey about the fact that Santana had found Mr. Henderson's mail in their box (Mrs. Carey found her in front of their building just as she was about to set fire to the misplaced letters). When she finally reached the front door to their apartment and stepped into the living room, she saw Brittany, Rachel, Kurt, and a man who Santana knew was a friend of Kurt's (although she wasn't sure if she was supposed to know his name) sitting around the television. Rachel gave her a small wave, but everybody else continued to stare intently at the screen in front of them.

She thought for a second about how to handle the issue of her unanswered text to Brittany. She didn't want to make too much of a fuss about Brittany not replying, since she had, after all, not really asked a question. Still, she thought, perhaps she ought to check if Brittany even received the text. Just to make sure.

"Did you maybe ... uhm ... I don't know if I had the right number, but I sent you a text earlier," she began cautiously.

"Oh yes!" Brittany exclaimed, "I'm sorry I couldn't reply yet. Nobody told me that the _Hummel Home Theatre Spectacular Seventies Extravaganza_ was athemed thing, so I didn't have a costume or whatever to wear and I thought that I'd just take off my shoes and not use my cell phone for tonight. Because they didn't have any cell phones or anything back then," she said brightly. "I also made this!"

Brittany held up a piece of paper, seemingly torn from a notepad, which she had taped to a ruler. On the paper she had written _Water your own Gate, Dick _in blue crayon.

"I thought you'd have a little more sympathy for Nixon? Having a history in politics yourself and all," Santana said, trying to hide the smile that she felt forming on her lips in spite of her awful mood.

"It's the spirit of the time," Brittany said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Looking around the room Santana now saw that Kurt and his friend (whose name she still couldn't remember) were both wearing powder blue bellbottoms. Kurt had his shirt buttoned down to show more of his chest than Santana had ever hoped to see and the friend, who was sitting on a cushion on the floor near Kurt's feet, had a thick golden chain around his neck. Next to them, on the other chair, sat Rachel. Santana was unsure if she was also thematically dressed up in the spirit of the seventies, since the dress that she was wearing looked an awful lot like the ones that she wore most days.

"I see," Santana nodded. "And why wasn't I invited to this _Hummel Homo Explosion_?"

"You were invited," Kurt said with a slight frown, pressing pause on the remote, "I told Rachel to tell you."

"The calendar," Rachel simply said.

Santana rolled her eyes and quickly surveyed the room. The chairs were both taken, but there was an open spot next to Brittany on the couch. She had no idea why the unnamed friend was sitting on the floor and not on the couch; although she suspected that the answer would provide her with more detail about Kurt's sex life than she cared for. She supposed that she could sit on the floor next to Kurt's friend, but then she saw Brittany already shifting a bit on the couch as she patted the empty seat next to her.

"What are we watching?" Santana asked as she sat down next to Brittany. She tried not to think about whether or not she could smell honey and flowers and _Brittany_ next to her.

"We have an excellent selection this evening brought to you by _Hummel Home Theatre_," Kurt said, picking up some DVD covers from the coffee table, "We started off with two episodes of _Three's Company_, now we're watching _Fantasy Island_, and we're going to end the night with a couple of episodes from the second season of _Charlie's Angels_."

"Okay, but why would you want to watch episodes from, like, three different series?" Santana asked, "If you wanted to go old school, why couldn't you be like normal fucking people and just watch the third season of _The Office _again or something?"

"Santana, if I may interject," Rachel piped up, "I think that Brittany was quite right in suggesting that we are trying to capture something of the spirit, the essence, of a very specific moment in history and the selection that Kurt is showing here tonight was carefully chosen to reflect said historical moment. A mimesis, if you will. And to further reflect this spirit we are also serving Dagwood sandwiches and Doritos chips with a non-alcoholic fruit punch," she finished, gesturing towards the food on the coffee table.

"Whatever you say, Barbra," Santana said just as Kurt was about to press the play button again. She turned to Brittany, "Would you like a beer?"

Brittany nodded and Santana returned to the living room a minute later with two beers in hand. She handed a beer to Brittany and sat down on the couch again.

"Santana, are you not going to offer anybody else something to drink?" Kurt asked.

"Nope," she shook her head.

"May I remind you that we are guests in your home?" Kurt asked and motioned towards himself and the friend whose name Santana still couldn't remember.

"No, you're not. And you know why? Because 'guests'," she said, making quotation marks in the air in front of her, "do not invite themselves over to other people's homes and force feed them shows that are so ancient that you can't watch it on HD or surround sound, while dressed in only the most hideous of outfits. Personally, and this is just my own humble opinion, I think that anybody who is caught wearing bellbottoms, any powder blue piece of clothing, or – god help us all – a combination of the two, ought to dragged to the outskirts of the district and beaten with sticks. But all these horrible things aside though; what's going on there?" she asked, pointing towards the television screen as Kurt pressed play again.

"Well," Rachel began, "we just saw the mythical mermaid, Naya, fall deeply in love with a mortal human, Harold, and consequently ask him to leave his wife, Sandy, and come with her to sea during the next tide. So Harold has agreed to leave Sandy, but Sandy is feeling betrayed and ..."

"Hold up, this Sandy is a mermaid?" Santana asked, taking a sip of her beer.

"No, Sandy is a regular woman and she's Harold's wife. Naya is a mermaid," Brittany said from next to her.

"That is ridiculous! Who would want to get it on with a mermaid? How would you even have sex?" Santana asked. Although she was normally quite annoyed by Kurt's themed movie nights, she felt even more on edge tonight. The idea that it was Kurt and his stupid home theatre's fault that Brittany never replied to her text was not far from her mind. "And what kind of a name is 'Naya'?" she ranted, "It sounds like a Papua New Guinean greeting ritual!"

"Would you be quiet?" Kurt asked.

"Fine," Santana sighed as she leaned forward to take a chip. She sat back in her seat and looked around the room. Since the episode that the others were watching was already a good way in, she had trouble following it. She thus leaned forward and threw a chip at Kurt.

"Hey!" she whispered loud enough for everybody in the room to look up, "Is this your new boyfriend?"

"This is Paule-Luc," Kurt said angrily, "my friend from hot yoga whom you've met several times, Santana."

The friend, Paule-Luc, gave a small wave. Santana nodded and slumped back into the couch again. She watched Brittany's legs and bare feet stretched out in front of her. Then she got scared that someone would notice her looking and looked down at her hands.

"I don't understand why you watched _Three's Company _without me," she said loudly, taking another sip of beer, "Why don't you take out this stupid mermaid movie and then we can watch _Three's Company _again? _Come and knock on our door,_" she sang, hoping to convince the others.

"No," Kurt and Brittany said in unison.

"Okay, so why don't we just stop this ridiculousness and go dancing?" Santana tried again.

"No," Rachel and Kurt's friend, Paule-Luc said.

"But this is offensive towards women," Santana said, "'cause that thing has half a fish's body and you know what means? You know the only thing that she's gonna be able to do, right?" Santana asked. When nobody answered her she made a gesture with her tongue in her left cheek, moving her right hand up and down to suggest a blow job.

"Okay, that's it," Kurt said, slapping both his hands on his knees, "You're officially kicked out of _Hummel Home Theatre _for the night. You can come back when you've learned to behave like a decent human being who knows that it is impolite to speak, or make rude gestures, while others are trying to watch television."

"Fine, whatever! Like I wanted to watch your stupid mating mermaids!" Santana said, getting up. As she passed the coffee table she grabbed the bowl of chips, tugging it under her arm as she walked out. "Enjoy your blast from the fucking past," she said sarcastically when she reached the doorway. Rachel, Kurt and Kurt's friend (whose name she had forgotten again) ignored her, but Brittany looked straight at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Naya," she said, raising her right hand in an odd little wave.

* * *

"Like this?" Rachel asked, edging her feet slightly apart.

"Jesus, Berry! Just open your fucking legs!"Santana said, "Christ, it's no wonder you're always so uptight, it's like your thighs are fucking glued together or something," she muttered, pulling her shorts a little higher up her thighs in order to demonstrate. She moved to the edge of her chair and sat with her feet and knees parted in a masculine fashion so that her thighs barely touched. It reminded her of the way Puck would always sit on the edge of his seat when he came over to watch football in high school.

"Like this?" Rachel asked, trying to imitate Santana's position.

"Kinda," Santana said, looking over to Rachel, "but sit more to the front of your chair. Elbows out a little more. And you definitely need to slouch," she said as she got up from her own chair and moved over to Rachel to adjust her elbows a little.

"You know what?" Santana sighed as she took a step back and looked at Rachel, "I think we're going to need beer for this. And maybe a cigarette."

"I'm not going to smoke!" Rachel said immediately, "You very well know that I am as committed to my art as the next -"

"Jesus," Santana interrupted before Rachel could even finish her sentence, "I didn't say that you have to smoke, I just said that we need a cigarette. I'll be right back, just stay like this."

Santana smirked as she walked to the kitchen. She took two beers from the fridge and grabbed the packet of cigarettes from the counter. Stepping back into the living room she handed Rachel a beer and a cigarette. She sat down on the chair that she had previously occupied and lit a cigarette.

"Santana!" Rachel shrieked. "In the house!"

"It's for the arts, Berry," Santana casually said as she exhaled, "So if you want my help, deal with it."

Rachel simply huffed and sat up in her chair, seemingly already forgetting that she needed to slouch.

"Okay," Santana said, pointing a finger towards Rachel, "the secret to being an awesome lesbian lies in the way you hold your beer and your cigarette when you're smoking. Now watch me," she continued, leaning forward to demonstrate.

Rachel sat with wide eyes, closely watching Santana. As Santana was about to bring the cigarette to her mouth the apartment door opened and a second later Brittany walked into the living room.

"What's up?" Brittany asked, throwing herself down on the couch.

"Berry is switching alliances," Santana said with a shrug.

Brittany raised her hands in question.

"What Santana means to say," Rachel said in a disapproving tone, "is simply that I have asked her to introduce me to some of the more subtle nuances of the habitus of lesbianism. I'm auditioning for the title role in an exciting new musical production called _Let's just Dance: the Ellen DeGeneres Story _and I felt that I needed some help to make sure that my portrayal of such an iconic figure is accurate."

"So are you going to pay attention or what?" Santana asked, glancing over and winking at Brittany before Rachel could notice. Brittany sat back with an amused smile.

"So you just sit like I showed you," Santana continued, "hold your cigarette like this," she put her own cigarette between her thumb and forefinger, "and hold the beer like this," she said, clasping the beer in the same hand that was holding her cigarette, "and then you say something like," Santana sat forward a bit and pointed the hand which held both her beer and cigarette towards Rachel, "Listen up, Yosie, why don't you go over to those lovely dykes on spikes over there and lure them into a little cottage action, 'cause my grrl here is most definitely not interested in going anywhere near your gynaeotrope honey pot!"

Brittany stifled a laugh and put her hand over her mouth.

Rachel's mouth was slightly agape. She stared at Santana. "As is so often the case with our conversations, I didn't follow most of what you just said," she said, getting up, "but I have a strong feeling that most of it was incredibly offensive! One would think that someone that forms part of a marginalised minority themselves would have a little more sensitivity. I really don't know how you expect others to treat you with respect when you yourself can't even refrain from using derogatory terms."

"You know what, Lassie?" Santana said, still waving her cigarette through the air, "I can do that, because I'm a part of the family. That's just the way it works. It's the same way that you can call Mercedes a delusional diva and vice versa, because you're both delusional divas. But if I called you a delusional diva that would just be rude, 'cause I'm not part of your band of divas," Santana knew that technically her example wasn't valid, given the amount of insulting that she did on a daily basis, not sparing anyone; but she continued all the same, "So therefore I'm allowed to call another lesbian a dyke, because we're both dykes. And second of all, you should have thought about paying respect to minorities before you came running to me asking to help you master the act to perpetuating stereotypes based on some vague notion of a shared sexuality."

"You know I didn't mean to offend you, Santana, I just ..." Rachel started, looking slightly unhinged.

"Look, Berry, if you want to audition for this part, and I must tell you that I'm still not convinced that it isn't porn, go watch _The Ellen Show_ or something. Or at least get a blonde wig. You're inexperience with regards to acting like a soft, but adorable butch should be the least of you worries concerning your likeliness to get this part," Santana said with a shrug.

"I was just asking for a little bit of help, Santana. If you didn't want to help me all you needed to do was say no!" Rachel said sharply.

"But where would the fun in that be?" Santana asked with a smile.

"I will not stand here and be subjected to your sarcastic insults any longer," Rachel said, picking up her handbag, "And I need to get going; I have to meet Kurt and Colleen at the theatre at 8pm," she picked up her keys from the table and handed the cigarette she was still holding to Santana.

"Oh, tell it I said hi," Santana took the cigarette from Rachel.

"You're a bad person, Santana," Rachel sighed. "So I'll get a blonde wig and then we'll go over this again tomorrow, yes?" Not waiting for an answer she gave Santana and Brittany a small wave and walked out.

Santana shook her head and put the unlit cigarette that Rachel had handed her back in the packet. When she looked back up she noticed Brittany smiling at her.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked curiously.

"It's nothing," Brittany said, shaking her head. "I mean, it's just that you're so relaxed."

"Excuse me?" _Relaxed_ wasn't one of the words that were often used to describe her.

"I mean, like ..." Brittany searched for words, "Like, back in high school, you were always so ... uhm ... almost uptight about the words that everyone was allowed to use around you. Do you remember?"

Santana looked at Brittany for a second. Then she understood. She nodded and looked down.

"It's really cool though," Brittany quickly added. "Like I remember how you use to say that you weren't a lesbian, you know? You said that it was a nasty word or something and it had negative connotations, so you said that I shouldn't use it. And now ... it's just cool that you seem a lot more comfortable and relaxed about stuff like that."

"Yea," Santana said, biting her lower lip and still looking down, "I'm sorry about that. It was really fucked up of me to tell you that. But ... I guess things are different now."

She finally looked up and smiled hesitantly. Brittany returned her smile and then, a second later, she gave a little laugh.

"I think that's awesome," Brittany said. She turned around and took something from her backpack. "Do you want to play _Truth Snap_?" she asked with a serious expression as she turned to Santana. She held up a pack of cards.

"What the hell is _Truth Snap_?" Santana asked, still smiling.

"It's like regular snap, but every time you win you get to ask the other person a question and they have to answer it truthfully," Brittany explained as though it was the most obvious game in the entire world, "For example, if I won then I could ask you if you were a part of the Illuminati and you'd have to tell me honestly if you were."

Santana wasn't sure if she was ready to play any kind of game with Brittany. A game that involved being forced to tell the truth honestly sounded like more than she could handle. But then she saw Brittany smile and wave the pack of cards with a small pout that seemed to reinforce the innocence and simplicity with which Brittany explained the game - as though there couldn't possibly be a question on this earth that either of them might not want to answer truthfully. For a second she believed that this game of innocent and sugar-coated honesty could exist in spite of the myriad of entangled truths that surrounded and so often suffocated her. And so Santana simply nodded her head and led Brittany to the kitchen where she motioned for Brittany to sit down at the kitchen table. She took two beers from the fridge and took a seat opposite Brittany as Brittany shuffled and then dealt the cards.

"You ready?" Brittany asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Go for it." Santana watched Brittany put down her first card.

Brittany won the first round and asked Santana if she preferred Pepsi of Coke. Easy enough, Santana thought. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe they'd keep it silly and laugh and drink and play. Santana won the second round and asked Brittany if she had ever stolen anything. Santana also won the round thereafter and asked Brittany if she'd ever bungee jumped. Brittany won again and asked if Santana thought that Elvis was still alive. Santana won the fifth round and asked Brittany if she thought the rumours were true that Elvis now lived on the moon.

"I think Elvis is a ghost in a public restroom just outside Memphis," Brittany said and grabbed the pile of cards that rested between them, carefully shuffling again.

Santana laughed and got up to take two more beers from the fridge while Brittany dealt again. Santana took the stack of cards that Brittany had dealt her from the table and watched as card after card landed on the pile in front of them. She watched an eight of hearts land on another eight of hearts and her hand shot forward. Brittany was quicker and Santana's hand landed on top of Brittany's with a thud.

"I win," Brittany said. She took a sip of beer before she spoke. "Why did you get that tattoo?"

Santana took a large gulp of her own drink before she answered. "I got it on the day of my 21st birthday," she started, "I woke up that morning and my godmother phoned me to wish me a happy birthday. You know her? Aunt Emily? They live in Chicago," Brittany nodded and Santana continued. "Anyway, we talked for a little and she eventually asked me when I was bringing home a boyfriend. Apparently my mother had hinted, for reasons that I'm yet to understand, that I was seeing some politician's son. I remember literally just thinking, like, what the actual fuck? And that was the day that I decided that I would never lie for my parents again. I'd stopped lying _to _them a long time ago, but it was only that day that I realised that lying _for _them, lying with them, was just as bad, you know?" As she spoke Brittany leaned over and took Santana's right hand in both of her own. She turned Santana's hand upwards and lightly touched the black letters on her wrist. Santana ignored the shudder that travelled through her body. "That was just after Rachel and I starting living together, so I dragged her along to this little tattoo parlour a few blocks down and I got this. For my birthday. As a kind of emancipation. Like a reminder that I didn't have to lie anymore. A reminder of how good it feels to tell the truth and not lie about who I am."

"And have you kept to that?" Brittany asked, looking up from Santana's wrist. It wasn't a harsh or judging type of question. She sounded genuinely curious.

"For the most part, yes. Sometimes it's hard, but I try," Santana said.

Brittany smiled and reached for the cards again. She dealt. Santana won. She thought for a second about her question.

"Are you happy?" she asked, because she really needed to know. "Like are you satisfied with your life? With the way things turned out?"

Brittany closed her eyes for a second as if deep in thought. "I am," she said when she opened her eyes. "Mostly I am, yes. There are days that I feel sad or down or whatever, but mostly I'm happy." She reached for the cards and shuffled again, but continued speaking, "I remember there was this one specific day. It was the day after I first moved in on my own. I lived with my folks for a long time after ... after high school and stuff. So I'd finally moved into this really crappy little apartment and I woke up the next morning – the first morning on my own. And I remember that the sun woke me, because I didn't even have any curtains. But I woke up in my own place," she started dealing the cards, "and I thought to myself that I finally knew what it felt like to be an adult. And that just made me so happy."

Santana smiled at Brittany, but said nothing. She thought about Brittany waking up in an apartment that Santana never knew. She wondered if Brittany had new bedding now and if she still had some of the same pictures standing around her room. Somehow, Santana suddenly realised, she had kept picturing Brittany in her parents' house with a girlishly pink bedroom. She glanced at the freckle just above Brittany's upper lip and wondered if she still buried the right side of her face in her pillow as she slept. Santana remembered how Brittany would always turn around in the early mornings with sleep marks all over the one side of her face and how she'd the plant feathery kisses all over Brittany's face until she was completely awake.

Perhaps Brittany now had a grown-up room with grown-up colours like beige and brown. Perhaps she had a new pet whose name Santana didn't know. Santana took another gulp of beer as she pictured a grown-up Brittany's bedroom where Brittany would perhaps wake up next to someone else who would kiss the sleep marks on her face. Santana felt something – it wasn't nausea and it wasn't light-headedness, but something in between – and she downed the last few sips of her beer, berating herself for her lack of indifference towards the fact that, of course, Brittany would now have a different life with new things and new people. She threw down her first card and watched as Brittany won the game. Brittany got up to put her empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Sing the song," she said softly, leaning back against the counter.

Santana sighed. She could just say no. She could always make up some excuse or tell Brittany that it wasn't really a question so it didn't count. But instead, she got up and walked to her room. When she got back to the kitchen, guitar in hand, Brittany was still leaning against the kitchen counter. Santana didn't say anything. She merely pushed the chair out a little, sat down, and began to strum gently. She played the song once, feeling a little rusty, without singing. Then she repeated the same chords, singing softly.

"_Bless these blues that I'm feeling _

_So grateful I can feel at all_

_Been so cold for such a long time_

_Now at least my heart is full" _

Santana felt a pang somewhere near her heart as she remembered standing on the cold sidewalk singing these same words. She remembered how she stood there, looking down at the coins in her guitar case, trying not to remember how she had walked from Brittany's driveway to her car. How she had intended to drive back home, but then kept going until she finally just swerved off the road and sat in her car in a neighbourhood that she didn't know, thinking about how much better it had felt not to think or feel. She remembered how she had sat there with her head on the steering wheel, wondering if it would have been better if she had never woken up one day to put on a purple dress and walk up to Brittany's locker. If she had never walked up to Brittany to tell her that she's been doing a lot of thinking. She remembered turning her head sideways and looking out her car window, wondering at which exact moment the quiver started that would eventually turn into a violent shake that caused everything to come crashing down.

"_Bless these blues that I'm feeling _

_Bless the sorrow and the ache_

_I was going through the motions _

_Now at last I am awake_

_Bless these blues, bless these blues"_

Santana repeated the chorus, remembering a spring day when she finally managed to get through the song without choking up. She remembered a day when, finally, the broken hearted young man from the coffee house didn't come out to sit at her feet while she sang. Singing a little more confidently now, she remembered the strange feeling when, on a day just after her twentieth birthday, she realised that all that was left - after almost two years - were a few pleasant memories and a very dull, very distant pain when she thought of that summer's day in the Pierces' driveway.

"_Bless these blues that I'm singing _

_Bless the sorrow that I feel_

_And bless the memory of love_

_At least I know it's something real" _

As she sang now and looked over at Brittany standing by the counter, Santana wondered how she had ever managed to forget. She noticed the way Brittany's shirt pulled up a little as she leaned back, revealing the slightest bit of milky skin. After she had finished the song, she softly played the chorus once more, wondering how it was possible for her to ever think that she had forgotten.

"That was really beautiful," Brittany said when the kitchen went silent. "If I was working in a coffee house and I heard you play I would go outside to listen to you over and over as well."

Santana looked up to find Brittany staring intently at her.

"One last game?" Santana asked, putting the guitar down next to her. She didn't really feel like another game, but she was desperate to get away from Brittany's gaze.

"Sure," Brittany said, walking back over to the table and sitting down.

Santana quietly watched as Brittany shuffled the cards. She suddenly wondered if Brittany still bit her nails when she was nervous. Santana didn't look up from Brittany's hands until Brittany had finished dealing the cards between herself and Santana and then gently tapped the table in front of Santana to get her attention.

"You start," Brittany simply said.

Santana threw the first card on the table and watched as card after card landed in front of her. She kept her eyes on the little pile of cards. Eventually she saw a two of spades fell on top of another two of spades. She brought her hand down onto the pile of cards, expecting Brittany's hand to come crashing onto her own any second.

"Snap," Santana said hesitantly. She looked up to see Brittany with both hands on the table in front of her, seemingly not making any attempt to reach for the cards.

"What do you want to know?" Brittany asked.

Santana thought for a second. She knew that she ought to ask something light and simple. Silly even. She ought to ask who Brittany was in a previous life or what she really thought of Rachel Berry. She ought to ask about Brittany's favourite flavour of soda or her first pet. But she already knew all of those things.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

Brittany looked at her and cocked her head to the side a little so as to ask Santana to elaborate.  
"You know," Santana went on without really knowing why, "about you and I? About what I did?"

Brittany sat quietly for a few seconds and then looked up. "No," she said.

Santana waited a few seconds, hoping that Brittany would say more. Hoping that she would have more words to console Santana - to somehow make her feel better - but Brittany just sat in her chair, quietly looking at Santana.

"It's getting late," Santana said uncomfortably, getting up, "I think I'm just gonna head to bed."

"Santana?" Santana turned around. She didn't say anything, but stood still, waiting for Brittany to continue.

"Good night," Brittany finally said, reaching up to lightly touch Santana's forearm. Santana wasn't sure if Brittany's touch was simply meant to emphasise her good night wishes or if she wanted something else from Santana. Asking a question and waiting for Santana to answer. Santana looked down at her arm and decided that perhaps she'd rather not know.

"Night, Britt," she said, her voice a little hoarse, before turning around again and slowly walking to her room.

When she reached her room Santana sat down on her bed and exhaled slowly. For a brief moment she contemplated going back out into the living room and asking Brittany about her unasked question. But then again, she thought to herself, she wasn't even sure if there was any question and even if there was she didn't know if would have any answers.

She sat motionlessly on her bed for another minute or two thinking about Brittany's slight touch to her arm, the freckle on her upper lip, feathery early morning kisses, the way Brittany's back arched when she leaned against the counter. Then Santana reached under her bed and grabbed the rectangular shaped black box that she kept hidden there. She leaned back into her pillows and as she felt the vibrator humming through her lower body, she closed her eyes and it was Brittany that she thought of.

* * *

Santana sings _Bless These Blues _P. G. Six

In other news I've been looking for a beta for a while now and I'm finding it quite challenging. So if anyone would be interested, please PM me or visit my tumblr.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_She was sixteen. She was sixteen and she felt Brittany's back press against her breasts as she pushed her against the steel locker. She saw the way Brittany tried to cock her head back and she knew that she was trying to look at her. So she bowed her own head down a little, resting her forehead against Brittany's shoulder to make sure that she would be out of her view. She allowed her right hand to snake around Brittany's waist and move up roughly to cup one of her breasts over the top of her Cheerio uniform. She could hear the rhythmic sound of steel echoing through the locker room as Brittany rocked into the locker every time she pushed forward and into her. She swallowed and glanced towards the door, again making sure that it was locked. Brittany's Cheerio skirt and spanks, carelessly discarded onto the floor next to one of the showers, caught her eye as her gaze travelled back from the locker room door. For a second she noticed something inside of her that, should she have stopped to feel at all, might have felt like a pang of guilt. _

_She bit her bottom lip when she felt Brittany tighten around her left hand. She heard her moan. She moved her fingers methodically and sped up a little when Brittany's arm reached back to pull her a little closer. She thought of all the things that she wanted to say; all the things that she wanted to whisper into Brittany's ear as she watched her throw her head back and forcefully bang her fist against the locker. _Fuck. Yes. God, yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come. Oh god, fuck. Come for me._ But she closed her eyes and kept deadly quiet because she was sixteen and had never been more scared in her life. _

* * *

Santana heard it before she even stepped inside. It was something between a hysterical high pitched cry and a series of loud sobs. For a second she stood and listened motionlessly. Then she remembered that it was already the first week of October and everything suddenly made sense. She paused at the front door and took out her phone, while unlocking the door. She really had better things to do on a Wednesday night than deal with this shit, she thought as she dialled the number.

"Bonsoir," she heard Kurt say after a few rings.

"We have a Manatee Man Code Red at the apartment. Get your ass down here," she said and ended the call before stepping inside the apartment.

She found Rachel on the living room floor in a foetal position. She was laying face down on a pile of letters and photos and was surrounded by balls of tissue. Santana guessed that Rachel had run out of Kleenex sometime during the day, because in her hand she held a rather ragged looking roll of toilet paper. The soundtrack to _Cats _was playing softly in the background.

"Rachel?" Santana said, silently congratulated herself for remembering that such days of extreme heartache called for the use of first names. Hearing Santana use her first name didn't have the calming effect that Santana had hoped for however. Instead Rachel sat up a little and gradually let her hysterical sobbing cries evolve into full blown wailing as she looked at Santana. Not bothering to unroll the toilet paper she pressed the entire roll against her noise.

"Fff... Finn ..." she choked out. Santana sighed and sat herself down on the coffee table in front of Rachel.

"Rachel, I'm not deaf or blind. I can see that it's obviously about Finn," Santana said, gesturing to the various pictures and letters around the room, "Just try to calm down and tell me what he did this time."

Rachel sat up a little more and shuffled towards Santana. "He ... he said ..." she tried before throwing her upper body over Santana's lap and sobbing hysterically again. Santana patted the top of Rachel's head awkwardly a few times. She remembered how she came home to a hysterical Rachel in the year after they moved in together. The first couple of times she heard Rachel's crying she was immediately convinced that Finn had died or at the very least lost a limb, but by now she knew better.

"Do you want some water?" Santana asked and lightly pushed Rachel off of her lap.

Rachel shook her head, but Santana walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water in any case. She held out the glass to Rachel who took it with shaking hands. They spent the next forty five minutes in silence. Rachel's crying had calmed down somewhat and from experience Santana knew that it would be better if she just kept quiet. So she sat awkwardly next to Rachel, occasionally patting her head lightly, and waited for Kurt to arrive.

Kurt's arrival, however, seemed to only fuel Rachel's hysteria again. After twenty more minutes Rachel finally calmed down enough to tell Kurt and Santana that Finn had called and told her that he thought that maybe they should take a break to focus on their respective careers.

"Careers? Seriously?" Santana said throwing her hands in the air.

"Santana!" Kurt hissed through his teeth.

Santana sighed. She obviously wasn't very good at this comforting thing. "I'll go get us Chinese. All of these emotions are affecting my blood sugar," she said, getting up and grabbing her purse.

"I can never eat again," Rachel declared dramatically.

"Rachel, honey," Kurt said softly, "you just have to try and take a few bites, okay?"

Rachel just shook her head no.

"Listen Fanny Brice, I'm getting you that disgusting vegan noodle thing and you're going to eat it. None of us have the time to deal with a hunger strike right now," Santana said and ignored the glare that Kurt threw her way.

* * *

"I just always thought that all of these obstacles meant that we were one of those rare couples, you know," Santana heard Rachel say when she stepped back into the apartment, carrying their food in a paper bag. "I imagined us ending up together and then Andrew Morton would write a seminal biographical work about our life and love. Like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton or Romeo and Juliet. Or even a modern day Jack and Rose."

"No, you're definitely not Romeo and Juliet or Jack and Rose, Rachel. They all died," Kurt said with a horrified look.

"I agree with Dorothy," Santana put the bag down on the coffee table and sat down. "You're most definitely not Romeo and Juliet or Rose and Jack or whoever. In fact, I think that even if we were to rent a boat and do everything we could to get our Titanic on, Finn still wouldn't be Jack. I have a very strong suspicion that somewhere, neatly tucked away in one of his seven chins, Finn is hiding a healthy pair of gills. And I'm definitely not ruling out the possibility of a blowhole on that humpy back of his," Santana said and she knew that it was not a good sign when Rachel didn't even make an attempt to respond or defend Finn. "You know who you are? You're those fucking idiots from _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_. Those fools who repeat the same mistakes over and over again and then do anything possible to forget how shit their relationship was and how they hated each other. And because they don't remember they just do the same shit over and over again."

To her surprise Rachel didn't cry again. She simply stared at Santana for a while before she eventually spoke. "Wouldn't you? If you had the chance to try again with someone that you loved more than anything?" she asked and Santana looked down. "If you thought that you could have another chance with Brittany? Wouldn't you at least give it a shot?"

"That is not even remotely the point here," Santana said defensively. "And it's not the same. You know why, Rachel? Because I fucking remember! I remember every fucking detail of everything that went right and wrong and that's the difference between you and me. You just repeat the same shit over and over again. Every single time it's the same thing. He pulls the same shit, you react the same way. Two months later you forgive him and you just forget everything that happened."

Santana's reversion to the Santana who didn't remember that she needed to be at least a little bit considerate towards people who were going through breakups seemed to shock Rachel out of her hysterical state for a while. She leaned over and took the bag that Santana had placed on the coffee table and the three of them ate in silence. Within the next hour, however, Rachel saw one of the pictures that she had scattered all over the living room floor (it was one of her and Finn dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone for a Halloween party) and crying hysterically, she sunk to the floor again.

Over the next two days Santana and Kurt took turns to stay with Rachel. Kurt forced her to take a shower on Thursday afternoon and Santana convinced her to step out of the apartment on Friday morning. On Thursday evening she even chastised Santana for smoking which Santana read as a good sign. On Friday afternoon she had a slight setback when she came across an old voicemail from Finn on her phone. The rest of Friday she thus spent in her pyjamas (a god awful nightdress that Santana couldn't believe belonged to someone who was born after 1938), watching old recordings of her and Finn singing together in high school.

By the time Brittany arrived on Friday night Santana had already watched every single recording of Rachel and Finn performing together twice, she'd listened to Rachel telling and retelling the tale of her and Finn's first kiss four times, and she'd read every letter that Finn had ever written Rachel.

"Hey," Brittany said when she stepped into the living room and put her things down on the couch.

"Hi," Santana said, looking down. Over the course of the last two weekends she annoyingly found herself blush every time Brittany spoke to her.

Brittany looked over to Rachel who sat on the floor staring at a picture of Finn with a depressed expression.

"Did she not get a call back for the Ellen thing?" Brittany whispered to Santana.

"Finn," Santana mouthed and Brittany nodded in understanding.

"We should get her one of those _Death to Finn _shirts," Brittany whispered.

Santana laughed and suddenly felt thankful that the weekend had finally arrived.

* * *

"Do you want to come with me?" Brittany asked, picking up her bag from the couch on Saturday morning.

"What?" Santana asked a little taken aback as she looked up from the magazine she was paging through.

"Do you want to come with me to my rehearsal?" Brittany repeated. "I mean if you want to. But if you don't want to that's totally cool. It might be really boring. But you like music and you like dancing, right?"

Santana just nodded. She had no real desire to spend her Saturday in some dance studio, but the promise of watching Brittany dance seemed to somehow attract her. She had also spent the last three days listening to Rachel's constant whining about Finn and was in dire need of a break far away from the apartment.

"Well, there will be singing and dancing. So ... just if you wanted," Brittany said.

"That sounds great," Santana said, "but I have to meet a friend this morning though. I said I would help him with some stuff for school." She silently cursed her friend Michael for not understanding the notion of deconstruction.

"No, that's cool," Brittany said and Santana thought she noticed a hint of disappointment in her voice. "It's no big deal. Obviously you'd have plans."

"I could come by after if you wanted," Santana quickly said and got up from the chair.

"Yea?" Brittany face lightened up a little.

"Yea, if that would be okay," Santana shrugged.

"Of course," Brittany said, and pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her bag. She scribbled something down and handed the piece of paper to Santana. "So this is the address. I don't know what time you'll be done, but I'll have my phone with me. So just text me when you're outside and I'll come and get you, okay?"

"Sure," Santana said, looking down at the piece of paper. She smiled at Brittany who turned around and walked out. Santana watched her walk out of the door, and glanced at the piece of paper in her hand; she couldn't help but feel like a teenager who finally managed to secure her crush's phone number.

At half past three Santana stood in front of a greyish building and took out her phone. She quickly typed out a message and pressed the send button. She leaned against the wall watching passersby's while she waited for Brittany. She knew that Brittany's rehearsal would most likely end any moment and technically speaking there was no use in her being here now but still, she thought, she might be able to see one or two numbers. She looked over to the entrance of the building a few times assuring herself that her sudden interest in musicals had absolutely nothing to do with her wanting to see Brittany and was purely an extension of her broader interest in music.

"Santana," she heard after a few minutes. She looked up and saw Brittany walking down the steps.

"Hi," she said and gave a small wave.

"Come on," Brittany said and gestured for Santana to follow her.

They walked into the building and through a long corridor before Brittany stepped into a large studio. The walls were covered by full length mirrors, and about twelve women stood together in one of the corners talking. A piano stood in one of the other corners and large speakers were mounted on the walls.

"Actually we were just about done," Brittany said. Santana noticed the thinnest layer of sweat on her neck and shoulders. She took a sip from the water bottle in her hand. "I just need to quickly run over there to debrief. Would that be okay? You can just make yourself comfortable wherever and I'll be right back."

Santana nodded and watched as Brittany jogged over to the other dancers. She sank to the floor and looked over to where Brittany was now standing at the other end of the room. She looked around and noticed that she could see Brittany's reflection from every possible angle in the mirrors. In the mirror opposite her she could see Brittany laughing at something the dancer next to her said. Then Brittany's gaze travelled to the left and her eyes met Santana's in the mirror's reflection. She smiled and gave a quick wink. Santana shuddered and looked away.

After about five minutes Santana saw the dancers heading towards the door. She closely watched Brittany's reflection in the mirror as she approached.

"So," Brittany said when she reached Santana.

"Yea," Santana replied.

"I'm sorry that you came all the way over here and didn't get to see anything," Brittany said and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry about it," Santana said. Brittany held out a hand to pull Santana up. "Any time away from Berry is a good time."

"I suppose," Brittany nodded, but looked a little dejected. "I'll get you tickets when our official run starts though. So listen, I just have to change quickly. Walk with me?"

She walked out of the studio and down the corridor again. Santana followed her blindly. The thought of Brittany changing seemed to have impeded her speech faculty somewhat. It was only when they stepped into a locker room at the very end of the corridor that she snapped back to reality and looked over to Brittany who was busy pulling her hair into a high ponytail. Santana looked around the locker room and suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. She was unsure if Brittany had meant for her to follow her all the way in. Perhaps, Santana thought panicky, Brittany had wanted her to rather wait outside.

"I'm just gonna take a quick shower and I'll be right out," Brittany said as she opened one of the lockers.

"You're going to take a shower? Here? Now?" Santana felt blood rushing to her head.

"Well, yes," Brittany pulled a white towel out of the locker, "I just danced for like six hours straight and I smell like one of those miniature pet pigs my cousin had when we were little."

"Yea," Santana nodded. The thought of Brittany taking a shower made her want to run outside. She wanted to run to somewhere where she couldn't remember the way a younger Brittany would stop just before she entered the shower, look back at Santana and wink slyly.

"You can just wait here," Brittany pointed towards the wooden benches against the wall, "I'll be back in five minutes."

Santana sat down awkwardly on the wooden bench. Like the ones they had in high school, the lockers, she noticed, were painted red. The room was quiet apart from one woman on the opposite side who was getting dressed. Santana heard water running and knew that Brittany must have stepped into the shower. Had it been a few years earlier, she knew, she simply would have stepped into the shower with Brittany. But this was different, she thought. Everything was different now. She pulled out her phone and busied herself with an intense game of Angry Birds.

Santana only looked up from her phone when it was too late. She looked up when Brittany was already standing in front of her wrapped in only a short white towel. Her eyes travelled over smooth legs and muscular thighs up to where small beads of water were dripping from Brittany's wet hair onto her shoulders. Santana swallowed and wondered why the hell she'd agreed to come with Brittany. She should have made up some excuse and left, she thought.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, pulling the towel down a little. "I forgot to take clean clothes with me."

"God, no," Santana said a little too quickly, "this is your locker room. You shouldn't apologise."

"Yea," Brittany nodded, but shifted around uncomfortably, "I just ... I didn't mean to disturb you. You seem busy."

"Yea," Santana said, not really knowing what else to add. Her gaze shifted back to Brittany's thighs.

"Yea," Brittany said again and drummed her fingers against the white towel. "So I'll just grab my stuff and I'll be out in a minute," she eventually added.

"Sure," Santana crossed her legs on the bench. "I'll just wait here."

When Brittany turned around and walked away Santana caught herself silently hoping that Brittany's towel would slip or at least pull up a little. When it didn't Santana got up, and with her back turned towards the shower area, she waited for Brittany by the door.

* * *

"Do you want ice cream?" Brittany asked when they stepped outside the studio.

"Sure," Santana said. She glanced over to find Brittany looking at her. Santana smiled and looked down. The memory of Brittany in a short white towel flashed through her mind.

They walked down the street in silence. They made their way through the crowd and walked down a couple of blocks towards the general direction of their apartment.

"Where are we going?" Brittany eventually asked. Her hand brushed against Santana's and the image of Brittany in a towel inappropriately flashed through Santana's mind once again.

"I thought you wanted to get ice cream?" Santana asked, trying her best to seem nonchalant.

"We are," Brittany said, "But how am I suppose to know where to find good ice cream? That's unless you want to take a quick trip to Columbus where I know this great little place."

Santana felt her heart speed up a little. "Yea," she said, "of course. Of course you wouldn't know. Come on."

Santana pointed towards the other side of the street and they walked in silence again. Every now and then Santana would look over to Brittany who seemed to be contently surveying the city scenery. When they reached the little ice cream shop Brittany pushed Santana back a little. "Stay here, I'll be right back," she said. Before Santana could reply she disappeared into the shop, leaving Santana alone outside.

A minute later she stepped out with two large ice cream cones. She held one out to Santana. "You're welcome," she said.

"Thank you," Santana smiled, taking the ice cream.

"Should I have gotten one for Rachel?" Brittany asked as they turned the corner. "I would have, but I wasn't sure if she could have ice cream. Because she can't have cream which means that I would have had to just get her ice and I think you have ice at the apartment already."

"No, don't worry about it. She's not eating sugar at the moment," Santana said. "It's something about needing to cleanse her system. I don't really get it, but it has something to do with her and Finn breaking up."

"I still can't believe how cruel he is," Brittany said. A few drops of ice cream had dropped onto her hands and she stopped for a second and licked the ice cream from her fingers. "I mean Kurt says he does this all the time."

"You have no idea! He's such a narrow minded dickhead. That's why I'm always telling her," Santana said, wiping her hands with the napkin that was wrapped around her cone, "this is what happens when you date a Republican."

"I know right," Brittany said, licking her ice cream.

"Yea, did you know that he even tried to convince her to donate money to Romney's campaign once? And another time he almost got her to perform for this fundraising thing for some candidate in Kentucky or somewhere. Fucking idiot Republicans."

"Exactly," Brittany said. She was desperately trying to stop her ice cream from dripping all over her hand. "But what does Romney's campaign have to do with Finn being a Republican?"

"Romney is a candidate for the Republican Party."

"Really? I always thought Republican meant being an idiot. Like 'oh that Finn is such a republican,'"

"No," Santana shook her head, "although that is mostly also true."

Brittany stopped at a trash can and threw the ice cream soaked napkin she was holding away. She licked some ice cream of her fingers again and wiped her hand on her pants. Santana stood a foot or two away and waited.

"Hey, Santana," Brittany said when she turned back to Santana. Her expression was suddenly much more serious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Santana said and took another bite of her ice cream.

"Are you ... uhm ..." Brittany began. "Are you seeing anyone? I know it's not really my business and I don't mean to intrude or anything. I was just wondering, 'cause you know, I was wondering."

Santana felt a little flustered. She looked down at the melting ice cream in her hands. "No," she finally said, "not really. I mean nothing serious. So no, no."

"Oh," Brittany said. The sky had now turned dark. Santana looked over at Brittany who was staring at her shoes as they walked towards their apartment building.

"Do you have anybody?" Santana plucked up the courage to ask after about fifteen minutes.

"I ... I just -" Brittany started but was interrupted by the sound of her phone. She looked over at Santana apologetically as she pulled it out. "It's my mom. I should take it. I'm sorry," she said.

Santana couldn't help but feel a little dejected when Brittany took a few steps away and turned her back to answer the phone. She thought back to the times when Brittany's mom would call while Brittany was with Santana and how she would yell a hello to Mrs. Pierce when Brittany answered.

"Santana!" she suddenly heard.

"Fuck," she muttered when she turned around and saw a short blonde woman approaching. She briefly weighed her options. She could turn around and get away from the woman as fast as possible. But that would mean leaving Brittany behind. She could also pretend to be someone else and simply not respond to the woman calling her 'Santana', but that might lead to an even longer conversation which could draw Brittany's attention and Santana really didn't want Brittany to think that she was she kind of girl who regularly had arguments with strange women on street corners.

"Hello, Santana," the woman said coldly. "Well, don't you look well for someone who's been dead for almost a month."

Santana sighed and tried to ignore the woman's sarcastic tone. "Uhm ... yea ... hi ... uhm ..." she said as she tried to remember the woman's name.

"Natalie," the woman said.

"Right, Natalie," Santana said. "How are you?"

"I'm well," she said, "I would have been better if you had returned one of the thirty one messages that I left you."

"Listen," Santana started. Under most other circumstances she would have used this opportunity to tell the woman in no uncertain terms what she thought of her desperate attempts to get hold of her. Santana would have told her that she clearly needed to take a course in basic communication in order to be able to take a hint and then she would have turned around and walked away. But her eyes shifted towards Brittany who was still standing a few feet away with her back to Santana. "Listen ... uhm ... Nicole -"

"Natalie," the woman corrected.

"Yea, Natalie. I'm really sorry that I didn't return your calls," Santana said, praying that she'd be able to end the conversation before Brittany finished her phone call. "I just think that ... uhm ... I'm not sure if maybe I wasn't clear about this and I really didn't mean for you to get the wrong idea, but I never really intended our ... relationship to go any further. And I honestly thought that you understood that."

"Well, I don't think it would have been too much to ask of you to simply tell me that yourself," the blonde woman started.

"Yea, totally," Santana said, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I was a mean evil bitch. Look, I really don't have time for this now."

"See?" the woman asked. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You can't treat people this way. You had your roommate tell me that you were dead!"

"O for fuck sakes," Santana exclaimed. From the corner of the eye she could see Brittany putting her phone back in her bag and turning back to where she had left Santana. She looked back over to the woman in front of her. "Would you just fuck off? Jesus, what do I have to say to get you to understand?"

"Hey," she heard Brittany say softly, her gaze moving from Santana towards the other woman. "I'm Brittany."

"It's nice to meet you, Brittany," Natalie turned to Brittany, "but we were actually kind of in the middle of something here."

"No, we were done," Santana said confidently.

"Brittany, is it? If you could just give us a second," Natalie replied and took a step so that she now stood with her back towards Brittany.

"Santana said that you were done," Brittany said, looking over to Santana.

"Santana was wrong," Natalie said and Santana began to very seriously consider the possibility that the woman might be completely crazy. "So if you'd just wait over there for a second. Santana is a big girl, I'm sure she'll be fine."

Santana took a step forward and raised her index finger, but before she could say anything Brittany spoke. "Actually I'm rather comfortable where I am right now. So I think I'll just go ahead and wait here, since it seems like your conversation is kinda over anyway."

"Seriously," Natalie looked over to Brittany. "Who are you? Her babysitter?"

"Actually," Brittany said, taking a step forward and taking Santana's hand firmly in her own, "she's my bitch. And I don't want her to talk to you, so I think that we'll be leaving now."

Before Santana could say anything else she felt Brittany pull her away from the blonde woman in front of her. She led her down the block and around the corner until they were completely out of sight.

"You're welcome," Brittany shrugged.

Santana wanted to say something. Anything. But the only thing that she could think of was Brittany's hand tightly gripping her own. Brittany was holding her hand and she didn't let go until they reached the entrance to their building.

"What the fuck, Brittany?" Santana said when Brittany finally let go of her hand and she managed to get her voice back.

"What?" Brittany asked with a confused look.

"I could have handled that," Santana mumbled.

"But this was more fun," Brittany said and without another word she walked into the building and started climbing the stairs.

They found a sleeping Rachel spread-eagled across the couch. Santana guessed that Kurt must have been there earlier; because the pictures of Finn that Rachel kept with her at all times were neatly stacked on the coffee table and there were two boxes of take out on the floor next to the couch. _Don't Cry for me Argentina _played softly on repeat in the background.

"She looks like one of those baby seals we saw at the zoo once," Brittany whispered and pointed towards Rachel.

Santana chuckled and walked towards the kitchen. She returned with a box of leftover Chinese and two sodas.

"Are you hungry?" she whispered. "We could share."

Brittany nodded and sat down on the floor next to the coffee table. She took the fork that Santana held out – Santana had no idea whether Brittany had learned how to use chop sticks since she last had Chinese with her – and took a bite from the box. Santana sat down next to Brittany and crossed her legs.

"If I wasn't scared that she'd have a complete mental breakdown I'd totally draw a moustache on her face right now," Santana whispered and gestured towards Rachel. Brittany laughed and took another bite.

Santana got up and took the empty box from Brittany after they'd finished eating. She walked over to the bin in the kitchen and threw the box away. When she returned to the living room she saw Brittany standing over a still sleeping Rachel.

"I swear to God, Britt! Touch her and die!" Santana said seriously when Brittany gently shook Rachel's shoulder to wake her.

"I don't mean to sound like a hobo or something, but she's sleeping on my couch," Brittany whispered and took a step back from Rachel.

"Yea, and she's going to stay there," Santana replied, "I haven't slept through the night since Wednesday, because Berry's been spending her nights crying loudly in the shower and reciting long pieces of Jane Austen, while watching those ridiculous YouTube clips she made Finn. And now she's finally asleep. So if anyone even tries to wake her right now, I'll be on them like one of those big ass momma lions at the zoo when the zookeeper tries to move the baby lions."

"A lioness," Brittany whispered.

"What?"

"A momma lion is called a lioness," Brittany shrugged.

"Whatever. You can sleep in my room and I'll just crash in Rachel's room," Santana said, glancing over to Rachel.

"You don't have to give up your room, Santana. I could just sleep in Rachel's room," Brittany said and stood up from the chair.

"No, you can't. If you're not used to it, those Playbills on her walls will give you epilepsy."

Brittany chuckled. "Rachel has Playboys on her walls? That's gross."

"Playbill. It's like musical theatre porn," Santana said. Brittany said nothing but scrunched her nose a little. "Besides, her whole room is littered with Finn memorabilia and you're our guest so I can't let you sleep in there," she continued and motioned for Brittany to follow her.

"Come on. I'll just get my things," she turned around and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms from the closet. "Okay, so ... uhm ... here's the bed and if you need anything else just call me, okay? Do you need anything else?"

"No, this is great," Brittany said and sat down on the bed. "Thank you, it really wasn't necessary."

"Brittany, it's no big deal. Really. My bed is your bed," she said and watched Brittany raise her eyebrows slightly. "I just mean ... You know ..."

"Santana?" Brittany called when Santana turned around to leave the room.

"Mmm?" she turned around again. She was beginning to think that it would have been better if she had just been a terrible hostess and let Brittany sleep in Rachel's room.

"Is this yours?" Brittany asked and held out a black bra. "Or is it like when you stay over at a guest house and they leave little gifts on your pillow?"

"Oh god," Santana said, "no, sorry. I didn't see that there." She grabbed the bra and flung it behind the chair that stood in the corner of the room. She ran her fingers through her hair. "Sorry about that. I'll leave you now."

"Good night, Santana," Brittany smirked as Santana left the room.

"_My bed is your bed_? Really, Freud?" she muttered to her reflexion in the mirror once she reached the bathroom.

Santana pulled her fingers through her hair and sighed. Then, determined not to think about the fact that Brittany was laying in her bed at this very second, she carefully removed her make-up, brushed her teeth and took out her contact lenses. She put on her glasses and stared at her own reflection in the mirror. She reprimanded herself for wondering if Brittany still preferred to sleep naked. Walking out of the bathroom she looked over to see that her bedroom door was slightly ajar, but the light was already switched off.

Santana climbed the stairs – she hated climbing those stairs at night – and opened Rachel's bedroom door. On the bedroom floor were various letters from Finn, photos of Rachel and Finn, some items of clothing that presumably belonged to him, as well as a couple of mixed CD's with corny covers that had ridiculous titles such as _Rachel and Finn: a love story_ and _From Lima to Love: the Journey that began with Journey_. In the middle of all this chaos stood Rachel's bed. Santana frowned when she noticed that it was stripped of any bedding.

"Fuck," she whispered as she stepped over a picture of Finn and Rachel on a giant teacup to reach the bed. She had entirely forgotten about Rachel's post break up cleansing rituals. Amongst other things these rituals included soaking every single sheet, duvet, and pillow cover that Finn had ever touched in a mixture of stain remover, jasmine and cayenne pepper.

Standing in front of the bed Santana thought about her options. Regardless of how badly she wanted to shout at her, there was no way that she would wake Rachel now. She also couldn't wake Brittany, because there was nowhere else for her to sleep. Santana looked around before deciding that she'd grab a spare blanket from downstairs and just sleep on the bare mattress. She also decided that, once Rachel felt a little better, she'd be doing the dishes for a month.

After carefully making her way down the dark stairs again – this was how people died, she thought to herself - Santana quickly opened the closet underneath the stairs. She did her best not to stare at Brittany's underwear on the third shelve and quickly grabbed a blanket from the top shelve. Cursing Finn silently, she cautiously made her way up the stairs again.

"Jesus Christ!" she yelped as she sat down on the bed. She pressed her hand down on the mattress to make sure, but even before she felt the wetness against her palm she already knew. Santana wasn't sure if Rachel had always included her mattress in her post breakup cleansing or whether this was a newly added ritual, but she was very certain that Rachel had somehow applied the cleansing mixture to her mattress.

Getting up from the wet mattress she wondered briefly is this was her punishment for having inappropriate thoughts about Brittany the past week or two. For the second time that night Santana made her way down the stairs. She paused for a second in the living room. Rachel was still spread out on Brittany's couch and for a moment Santana considered getting a piece of meat from the fridge to rub all over Rachel's sleeping face. She looked over at the two chairs that stood opposite the couch. Both were much too small to sleep on, she saw immediately.

"Fuck," she whispered again. She looked around for another minute or so before turning around and walking out of the living room.

She quietly stepped into her bedroom. Even in the dark she could see Brittany lying on the left side of her bed – the side that she'd always slept on, Santana thought – with her face buried in the pillow. She tiptoed past Brittany towards the big armchair that stood in the corner of the room. Pulling her feet up onto the chair she wrapped her arms around her knees. She leaned her head back against the wall. She knew that she wouldn't sleep, but closed her eyes nonetheless. She's right here, Santana thought to herself. She's right here. Santana drew a deep breath. Brittany was sleeping a few feet away from her. Beside the bed, hidden away at the back of her bookshelf, Santana knew, was a book that Brittany had bought her years before. On the first page of the book Brittany had simply written _love, that's all. _

_She was eighteen and she closed her eyes when she felt Brittany's breath against her thigh. She lowered her own hand, trailing down her breasts she finally reached down and pulled her fingers through Brittany's hair. She didn't fist it tightly or pull at it hard as she might have done on other occasions. When she finally felt Brittany's mouth against her, she brought her hand to her own mouth and bit down hard. Come here, she whispered after a few minutes. She felt Brittany's mouth gently kiss her lower abdomen, the sides of her breasts, the crook of her neck, until finally she felt Brittany's mouth against her own. She tasted herself as she cupped Brittany's face in both of her hands. Briefly breaking their kiss she pushed Brittany back a little so that she was sitting upright on the bed and then moved upward herself until she was straddling Brittany's lap. Then she felt Brittany's hand against her. She looked down and ran her fingers over Brittany's thighs. She put her arms around Brittany's neck and rested their foreheads together as Brittany pushed inside of her._ I love you, I love you, I love you, _she whispered softly._

_She lifted her head and she didn't break eye contact when she brought down a hand and gently rolled one of Brittany's nipples between her thumb and index finger. She wondered, as she lowered her head to kiss the spot just below Brittany's collarbone, if Brittany sometimes felt as scared as she did. She wondered if Brittany ever woke up in the middle of the night thinking about hushed whispers in the hallways, and political campaigns, and angry phone calls, and the future somewhere far from here. She wanted to ask Brittany if everything would be all right. She wanted to ask Brittany if, despite everything, they would be okay in the end. But then she felt Brittany pull her closer and she didn't say anything because she was eighteen and had never felt more loved in her entire life. _

"Are you going to sit there and stare at me all night?" Brittany whispered in the dark, interrupting Santana's trail of thought. She was unsure of how long she'd been sitting there. Maybe she'd fallen asleep at some point, but she couldn't be sure.

"What?" she asked a little bewildered. She could see Brittany prop herself up against a pillow.

"Are you going to just stare at me all night?" Brittany repeated. Santana thought that she could hear amusement in Brittany's voice, but wasn't completely sure.

"No, god, I'm sorry," Santana stuttered. "I ... uh ... I thought you were asleep."

"That makes it even creepier." She could now definitely hear a smile in Brittany's voice.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. She wasn't sure if Brittany expected her to leave. She thought about getting up, maybe going for a walk or sitting outside on the fire escape, but she sat quietly for a few more seconds.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Brittany sounded puzzled.

"Rachel's bed," Santana began, "it kinda ... well, I couldn't sleep in there so I thought I'd just try and sleep on the chair. I'm so sorry," she tried to explain. She got up from the chair and started walking towards the door. She'd make some coffee, she thought. She'd make coffee, get something to read and stay up all night feeling like a Parisian intellectual; she'd pretend that she was living somewhere in a bohemian commune in the 1940's, drowning her sorrows in existentialist writings while pining for a woman who slept only a few steps away.

When she reached the door she turned around towards Brittany again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out," she said softly.

She heard Brittany shift in the bed. "Sleep here," she simply said.

"That would just be weird."

"Why?" Santana wondered for a second if Brittany was trying to torture her.

"You know why," she answered, suddenly wondering if it might not have been easier to simply get into the bed with Brittany, put up a pillow barrier between them, and sleep. She was certain that that would have been much easier than to have this conversation.

"Is it because you talk in your sleep? Because I'm okay with that," Brittany said, patting the empty space next to her on the bed.

Santana gave a step closer to the bed. "No, it's not because I talk in my sleep."

"Why then?" Santana noticed the way Brittany's breasts pushed up against the hem of her tank top and she looked away.

"It's because you know that I talk in my sleep," she said and waited for a second until her breathing was steadier. "Please don't do this," she then said, looking up at Brittany again.

Brittany nodded. "Okay, fine," she finally said. "But I still think it would be less weird than you sitting there and watching me sleep."

"I said I'm sorry," Santana said and pointed towards the door. "I'll just leave you. Good night, Britt."

"Fine," Brittany sighed, getting up from the bed. "You can make me pancakes then."

"It's like two o'clock," Santana frowned and pushed her glasses up her nose a little.

"Exactly," Brittany shrugged and Santana did her best not to stare at Brittany's bare thighs when she walked around the bed towards Santana. "So it's morning which means that we should eat breakfast. It's like the most important meal of the day and you really shouldn't skip it."

"But -" Santana started but Brittany interrupted her.

"Look, I just thought that since you're obviously not going to sleep and I'm not going to sleep – 'cause no offence but your luring is a little creepy and I'm not going to sleep knowing that you have nowhere to sleep – that we might as well get up and do something. Like make breakfast. Come on," Brittany said, walking out of the bedroom.

"Really, Brittany, you don't have to do this," she said, following Brittany out of the bedroom. "Why don't you just go back to bed and I'll just hang out in the living room or stare at Rachel drooling or whatever?"

"Because I don't want to," Brittany stated plainly. "And you need to keep quiet or you'll wake your cub," she whispered as she passed Rachel in the living room on their way to the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Brittany asked and walked over to the kitchen cabinet. She took out two cups before Santana could answer and set it down on the counter. She leaned over and poured water into the percolator. Santana watched closely as Brittany measured out the coffee with a slight frown and then switched on the machine.

"What?" Brittany asked when she noticed that Santana was watching her. "You didn't really think that I expected you to be my bitch, did you? 'Cause I didn't. I'm not going to sit here and wait to be served on."

"Yea," Santana gave a small chuckle, "I know that." She couldn't help but notice the way that Brittany's boxers pulled up over her thighs when she leaned over the counter to pour the coffee. "So you really want pancakes?"

"Was I not clear about that?" Brittany asked with a smirk and handed Santana a cup of coffee.

"Nope, you were pretty clear," she nodded. "Are you going to help? Since you're apparently like the master chef or something."

There was a moment of silence before Brittany answered. "Of course I'll help," she said softly and took a step closer to Santana. Another moment of silence followed.

She took the cup of coffee from Santana's hands and put it down on the kitchen table. Santana knew what was about to happen even before Brittany took another step closer to her. She would have had enough time to take a step back if she wanted to. She would have had enough time to think of something to say or to turn around. But she stood still with her hands along her sides. She watched Brittany smile, cock her head slightly to the right and lean in. And it was only a few seconds after she felt Brittany's lips on her own that she moved again; bringing her hands up to wrap them around Brittany's neck, pulling her closer and sighing at the feeling of finally being home again.

* * *

Author's note: I've been looking for a beta for quite some time without much success. If anyone is interested, please PM or drop a message in my askbox on Tumblr (strictly no homophobes or Rachel Berry look-a-likes please).


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: All my thanks goes to TinyFi311 who beta read this chapter.

**Chapter 7**

She felt Brittany's arm wrap around her waist and pull her closer. They stumbled a few steps backwards. She lowered her hands slightly to caress the small of Brittany's back. Somewhere – maybe in her own mind – she heard a nagging voice telling her that this was a bad idea. But Brittany's tongue against her upper lip silenced the voice and suddenly Santana could hear nothing but her own heartbeat. Brittany's mouth trailed away from her lips and down her neck, planting soft kisses against her jaw and neck.

The absence of Brittany's lips against her own seemed to bring back the nagging voice. _This isn't a good idea; this isn't a good idea, _the voice told Santana. She sighed as she felt Brittany's mouth return to her own. _This isn't a good idea._ The image of Brittany in a short white towel flashed through her mind and she moved her hand to Brittany's neck. _This isn't a good idea._ The thought of Brittany's hand brushing against her own came to mind and she sucked in Brittany's bottom lip. _This isn't a good idea. _The old memory of Brittany's naked body against her own made her moan against Brittany's mouth. Finally Brittany broke the kiss and rested her forehead against Santana's.

"Is this okay?" Brittany whispered softly. She trailed her fingers down Santana's arm and Santana shuddered.

"No, not really," Santana breathed. Her heart was beating in her chest; in her throat; in her ears.

She allowed her head to rest against Brittany's for a few more seconds. To breathe Brittany. To smell Brittany. To feel Brittany. Then she drew away and turned her back to where Brittany was standing. She took a few deep breaths and with every breath she drew she could feel fear rushing through her veins towards her brain. She brought her hand up to her face, gently tracing an index finger over her bottom lip as she tried to figure out what to do.

She thought about running away and staying elsewhere until Brittany was gone. She thought about turning back and pinning Brittany against the counter. She wondered if the mature thing to do would be to explain to Brittany that she feels scared and conflicted. Maybe Brittany would understand and everything would magically turn out all right. But all of these thoughts just made her head dizzy and so she merely turned around and reached to take out a packet of pancake mix from the cabinet above her head.

She emptied the packet's content into a bowl and reached over to grab an egg from the kitchen table. She could see Brittany still standing against the counter. She wanted to look at her. To study her face and watch her chest rise and fall with each breath and look into her eyes. Santana wondered if Brittany felt any of the things that she was feeling. She cracked the egg into the bowl. The kitchen was eerily silent. She reached over and poured some milk into the mixture. Santana wanted to say something – to show Brittany that she wasn't an emotionally underdeveloped teenager anymore - but she couldn't think of anything appropriate. She stirred the mixture in the bowl, mesmerized as she watched the spatula in her hand go round and round.

"What are you doing?" Brittany broke the silence.

"I'm making you breakfast," Santana said and continued to stir. She felt a tingle on her lips.

"You know that's not what I meant," Brittany answered."You kissed me," she said, taking a step away from the counter towards Santana.

"No," Santana said, shaking her head, "you kissed me."

"But you kissed back," Brittany stated. She closed the gap between them and reached out. She took the spatula from Santana and began to stir the mixture. Santana felt her heart rate pick up again. Brittany was standing against her; her arm brushed against Santana's breast with every stir.

"No, I didn't," Santana said weakly. It was a lie. She knew it was a lie.

Brittany looked down at the bowl and held her hands still. And for the second time that night Santana knew what was about to happen before it happened. She knew that Brittany had stopped stirring to bring both her hands to Santana's face. She saw that Brittany was about to lean in. It was soft and gentle. Brittany's lips against her own. It lasted only a few seconds. Long enough for Santana to once again feel her heart in her chest; her throat; her ears.

"I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees," Brittany whispered when she pulled away.

"We can't do this," Santana breathed.

"Why not?" Brittany sounded calm and Santana wondered if her heart was also beating everywhere.

"I can't do this to you," she gave a step away from Brittany."I can't do this to myself again."

"Do what?" Brittany looked as though she wanted to step closer but stayed rooted in the same spot.

"This," Santana said and looked down. "Everything." Brittany's brow furrowed and she watched Santana with an uncomprehending look so Santana continued, "I just don't think it's a good idea – after everything – to go back. I don't think I can do that."

"Santana," Brittany said softly. Santana gave another step away from her. "Look, I understand where you're coming from; really I do. I just think that maybe you're living in the past too much."

"What?" Santana frowned. Out of all the things that she wanted to be doing at three o'clock on a Saturday morning, having this talk with Brittany was possibly at the very bottom of the list.

"I just mean," Brittany continued and Santana noticed the way her breasts pushed up against her shirt as she crossed her arms, "that maybe we should just let bygones be bygones, you know?"

"That's exactly what I've been doing and that's why this is a bad idea! I feel," Santana paused for a second as she thought, "that I've worked really hard to get where I am now and to be okay with you being here and I don't want to fuck that up."

"I don't understand," Brittany paused. "If you're telling the truth when you say that you're okay with me being here and that the past is in the past, then why can't we start over?" She sighed. "I don't mean ... I just ... Why can't we just be two people who kinda like each other and enjoy each other's company?" Brittany's eyes widened for a second. "Oh my god, you weren't lying when you said that you we're single, were you? Do you have a secret wife somewhere?"

"No," Santana said barely audible. Brittany's voice. Brittany's eyes. Brittany's mouth. Brittany was everywhere.

"Do you think I'm unattractive or something?" Brittany asked bluntly. Santana's head shot up. She took in Brittany's bare legs in boxer shorts, exposed shoulders, blue eyes, blonde hair messily stacked on her head. She didn't say anything. "Okay, but just listen to me for a second," Brittany said. "I'm not asking you to do anything huge. I'm just saying that I don't believe that if you were out at a bar or something and you saw me there ... Well, I'm not entirely convinced that you wouldn't want to buy me a drink."

Santana, still avoiding eye contact with Brittany, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Come on," Brittany tried again, "if you were walking around the city and you saw me on the street and I was all like 'How you doing?'" she stretched out her arm and pointed a finger towards Santana, "Are you seriously telling me you'd just keep walking?"

Despite herself Santana smiled. "It's not the same, Brittany," she whispered. "We don't even know each other anymore. I'm a different person than I was in high school and I'm sure that you are too. I don't know you. I don't know your favourite movie or what colour car you drive. I don't even know if you have a car. Or where you live. We're strangers."

"Santana," Brittany's voice sounded clear and without any of the doubts and insecurities that Santana heard in her own. "Just listen to me for one second. And if you still want me to back off, I swear, I'll back off." Santana didn't move so Brittany continued, "Do you remember that day ... that day when you walked up to my locker and you told me that you loved me? And I said that I couldn't be with you because I was with Artie?" Santana had no idea why Brittany was bringing this up now. Her head felt dizzy again. "And afterwards, when we eventually got together I felt so guilty that I turned you down and that I hurt you. But then one day I thought to myself that maybe it was a good thing that I turned you down." Santana felt her heart contract and she was sure that she was about to die. "I thought that maybe it was a good thing because, if I had said yes then and I broke up with Artie to be with you ... I don't think that I would have been able to ever really trust that you wouldn't just back out of everything again. That you wouldn't turn around and run away or freak out or whatever. You had freaked out about the idea of us being together so many times before that ... I just couldn't believe that you wouldn't do that again. I wanted to wait and see what you would do if I didn't do what you told me to ... I was always doing everything you told me to ... And I realise now that it was a really mean thing for me to do. But I needed to know for sure. And you waited for me. All of those months you loved me and you kept waiting for me and when we finally got together I knew that you really loved me. And I never once doubted that you would hurt me again or freak out or whatever."

Santana crossed her arms in front of her. "I really don't see the point in rehashing the past, Brittany," she said harshly, "and I don't really see where you're going with this."

"I'm trying to say," Brittany thought for a moment, "that I've thought about this a lot and what I've realised is that sometimes we have to do things that may seem cruel at the time. Like me choosing Artie over you. But sometimes is better that way, you know? Like when I choose Artie and you finally stopped playing games with me. Maybe if I left him immediately ... I don't know. I guess what I'm actually trying to say is that, even though it hurt more than I thought was humanly possible, maybe what you did was for the best. And maybe we needed these years apart." Brittany brought her hand up as though she wanted to reach out, but then retracted it again. "You were right. Everything you said back then was true." Santana felt her throat tighten and swallowed. "I still think that we could've worked it out if you just stayed, but ... you were right and I can see that now," Brittany said. She turned around and stared at the magnets on the fridge door. Santana wasn't sure if she had finished speaking. Maybe she needed a moment to compose herself.

Santana's eyes darted towards the kitchen table. She wanted nothing more than to get away from this moment. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to go all Eternal Sunshine on her memory after all, she thought. She leaned forward and picked up the now cold cup of coffee that still stood on the kitchen table. She waited until she was sure that Brittany was still looking the other way before she brought the cup up to her chest and slowly tipped the cup. She flinched when she felt the liquid hit her chest and soak through her shirt.

"Fuck!" Santana exclaimed. "You know what; I totally just spilled this coffee all over myself. I'm such a klutz," she said, already making her way towards the door, "I'm just gonna take a quick shower and change, okay? Just help yourself to whatever. Or if you want you can make yourself some pancakes. I won't be long."

She didn't wait for a reply before she left the kitchen and rushed into the bathroom.

_She sat down on the red blanket that was spread out in the middle of Brittany's room and crossed her legs. She looked around the room. Brittany had moved the bed and desk a little so that the blanket could be spread out in the centre of the room. She was standing by her desk lighting the last of what seemed like a hundred tea candles. Santana closed her eyes and listened to the rain falling against the window as Brittany walked over and switched off the lights. She waited until Brittany turned around before she spoke. _

"_So tell me what exactly are we doing?" Santana asked, gesturing around the room. _

"_We're having a picnic," Brittany said as though it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. Her eyes lit up as if remembering something and she made her way over to her bedside table where, Santana now saw, she magically retrieved a packet of strawberries and two sodas. She held it in the air for Santana to see. "Duh."_

"_But we're in your room. Aren't picnics supposed to be outside or in nature or something?" Santana asked. She obviously knew that it was raining outside, but she enjoyed this kind of playful banter. She also enjoyed hearing Brittany's own explanations, because even though the rain would be the most plausible explanation for an indoor picnic, she couldn't be sure that in Brittany's head the location of their picnic had absolutely nothing to do with the rain and everything to do with the fact that the Pierces' garden gnomes had joined a union and was now on strike. _

"_Would you rather sit outside and get all wet?" Brittany said seriously. _

_Santana smirked. "Wanky." _

_Brittany's expression remained serious, but Santana saw her raise her eyebrows a little. "Later," she said and gave a quick wink. She sat down opposite Santana and put the strawberries and sodas between them. _

"_Oh! I got you something," Brittany said as soon as she was seated and leaned over to pull something from underneath her bed. She held it behind her back. "Okay, I'm sorry that it's not wrapped, so you're going to have to close your eyes for a second. I couldn't find any sticky tape and then I thought of using pieces of gum to hold the wrapping paper together, but I figured that might be a little gross. Come on, close them!"_

_Santana frowned slightly but closed her eyes nonetheless. A moment later she felt Brittany's hands around her own. She felt Brittany's index finger trace along her wrist before Brittany turned her hands so that her palms faced upwards. Another moment went by and then she felt a book being placed in her hands."Open," she heard Brittany say. _

_Santana looked down at the book that Brittany had handed her. On the front cover she saw the black and white picture of a young man. He looked to be in his twenties. She brought the book closer to her face and studied the picture. He man looked sad. Perhaps it wasn't sadness, she then thought. Perhaps it was a look of nostalgia or melancholy. Her eyes shifted towards the bottom of the page. _Pablo Neruda: Selected Poems_, she read. She looked up at Brittany. _

"_Thank you," she said. Brittany bit her bottom lip and rocked back and forward excitedly. "It's great."_

"_I went to Spencerville with my dad to pick up a family of racoons and then I saw this in the window of a second hand book shop. I knew it was like the perfect gift from me to you when a saw that it said on the back it was a bilingual edition. I never even realised that they made books specifically for bilingual people," Brittany said excitedly and pointed to the book's back cover."Open it," Brittany said. Santana opened the book and let her fingers slide over the words on the page. "It's in Spanish and in English see? And I thought it was really cool, 'cause it's really hot when you speak Spanish." _

_Santana looked down and turned a few pages. It was only then that she noticed how the pages on the right hand side were translations from the Spanish on the left. She smiled, but didn't say anything. "Isn't that awesome?" Brittany continued. "It means that I can read with you and understand everything as well! It's like one of those art movies that you always make me watch, but without the moving pictures."_

_Santana put the book down next to her and leaned forward. She let her lips gently graze Brittany's. She drew her head back slightly and cupped Brittany's face in both her hands. "Thank you," she repeated. _

"_Read something," Brittany said softly._

_Santana let go of Brittany and reached back for the book again. She opened the book and quickly paged to the first poem. As she clear her throat to begin Brittany motioned for her to wait. She looked up from the book and waited until Brittany lay down with her head on Santana's lap. Her hand reached up for Santana's free hand and she intertwined their fingers._

"_You can read now," Brittany finally said, closing her eyes. Santana bowed down and placed a kiss on Brittany's forehead before she began. _

"Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo.  
Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua.  
Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto  
como un racimo entre mis manos cada día.

A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo.  
Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas.  
Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur?  
Ah déjame recordarte como eras entonces, cuando aún no existías.

De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada.  
El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos.  
Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos.  
Se desviste la lluvia."

_"What does that mean?"Brittany interrupted. _

"_Don't you want me to finish first?" Santana asked. Brittany just shook her head slightly and Santana turned her gaze the page on the right._

"Every day you play with the light of the universe.  
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.  
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly  
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.  
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.  
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?  
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.  
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.  
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.  
The rain takes off her clothes."

_Before Santana could resume her reading of the Spanish poem Brittany reached up and drew her into a kiss. She pulled Santana down and rolled them over so that Santana lay on her back. _

"_Your voice is so fucking hot," Brittany said as she broke their kiss. _

"_Yea?" Santana lifted her head, but Brittany drew back. She reached over Santana and picked up the book that Santana had dropped when Brittany rolled her over._

_Brittany adjusted her legs so that she was straddling Santana before she read the last lines on the page. "_I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,_" she read before Santana grabbed the front of her shirt and drew her into another kiss._

Santana felt the steady stream of water hitting her body gradually become colder. She felt water dripping down her face and she suddenly wasn't sure if she maybe had been crying. She tilted her head back. If she had been crying she wasn't sure what she'd been crying about. Perhaps it was about nothing really. Or, she thought, perhaps it was about everything. Her mind trailed back to Brittany. She leaned forward and slowly turned off the water. She wondered if Brittany was still in the kitchen. Stepping out of the shower she grabbed her cell phone from where she had put it on top of a pile of laundry. Twenty three minutes past four, she noticed and sighed. She slowly got dressed and thought about her next move. Brittany was most likely still in the kitchen and since Rachel had been sleeping on her couch Brittany didn't really have anywhere else to go. Technically speaking she could also be in Santana's room – since Santana had offered Brittany her bed for the night – but she doubted that Brittany would want to go to sleep now.

As she slowly - as quietly as she could -made her way towards the living room, she heard voices coming from the kitchen. She stopped and frowned, looking over to the couch which was now unoccupied. She gave a few quiet steps into the living room. "And so, as we stand beside this open grave, and we weep," she heard Rachel's voice from the direction of the kitchen. She glanced towards the front door. A few quiet steps would mean that she'd be able to sneak out of the apartment. Maybe she'd hang out on the fire escape until the sun rose and then she'd walk around the city until she was sure Brittany had gone to rehearsal. She gave a tentative step forward. Then another, and as she set her foot down on the wooden floor a loud creaking noise sounded through the apartment. She sighed.

"Santana?" she heard Rachel call.

"Fuck," she muttered. She couldn't leave now. It was quite obvious that she was in the living room and if she left now Brittany would know that she was fleeing which might lead to another uncomfortable conversation. She slowly walked to the kitchen. "Rachel," she hissed as she stood in the doorway, "Just the ass I was looking to kick." Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table and Brittany stood against the fridge. She crossed and arms and her eyes shifted to Santana. Santana knew that she was trying to make eye contact and she looked away.

"Santana, there is no need for violence this early in the morning," Rachel said, "I merely meant to ask if you had finished your shower. There are other people in this house who also wish to use the bathroom."

"Yea, and if those _other people _hadn't gone all voodoo mama on their bedrooms and proceeded to fall asleep wherever they pleased, none of us would have been awake at this ungodly hour, would we?" Santana said with an annoyed tone. She had very seldom felt more hatred towards Rachel.

"You should have woken me up," Rachel shrugged, "I just rested my eyes for a bit."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yea? And where would you have slept for the rest of the night?"

"I have my aerospace mattress and some vacuum sealed sheets at the bottom of my closet," Rachel said as though it was obvious that she kept vacuum sealed bedding handy in case of emergencies. "Speaking of which," she continued and pointed to a piece of paper from the table in front of her, "I was just telling Brittany that, as a part of this spiritual catharsis, I've decided to take out an obituary in the local newspaper. I started composing a eulogy last night." Rachel pointed towards the piece of paper on the table.

"What the actual fuck?" Santana exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Well," Rachel sat up a bit. Santana got the feeling that talking about her failed relationship with Finn weirdly energised Rachel. "It's quite obvious isn't it? I have to bid our star-crossed love farewell. And what better way to express this feeling of loss – this heart-breaking attempt to say goodbye - than through the most powerful of metaphors? I will have a funeral – you are of course invited – on Tuesday morning and we will say our final goodbyes. I was just talking to Brittany about the possibility of her flying in for the service."

"I'm not flying in for the service," Brittany said in a monotone voice. She sounded tired. Santana couldn't really understand how anybody could look this hot after being up for an entire night and she suddenly wished that Brittany was wearing more clothes.

"She'll still see about flying in for the service," Rachel said, ignoring Brittany's comment.

"Okay, Rachel, I'm going to stop you right there," Santana said, leaning against the doorway, "to give you a bit of advice. And I'm going to do this in the nicest way I possibly can. So get your pencil ready and listen up," Santana frowned as she saw Rachel move the piece of paper closer and pick up her pencil, "Rachel, you are crazy! And not the feeling a little off once a month type of crazy; you're _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _crazy and you need help. I'm serious; you're psychotic! So I want to suggest that you take the hard earned cash that you would have spent on this dumb ass funeral and go see a doctor. And tell him to seriously consider giving you a light dosage of Seroquel. Perhaps Risperidone," she said and took a threatening step in Rachel's direction. She saw Rachel swallow hard and glance to the paper in her hand. "Go on, write it the fuck down!"

"Would you like some pancakes?" Brittany suddenly asked. Santana looked over to where she was now standing behind Rachel. Brittany looked nervous and Santana knew that she was trying to distract her attention from Rachel. Santana just shook her head. Brittany smiled at her and she was once again overcome with the feeling that Brittany was being extra nice just to make her feel even guiltier.

"No thank you, Brittany, although it's very sweet of you to ask," Rachel said, seeming glad that Brittany intervened. "Alas my vegan diet does not allow for any animal products such as eggs or milk."

Brittany nodded and wiggled one of her thumbs in the air. "Short thumbs," she mouthed to Santana so that Rachel couldn't see. They're eyes locked for a moment before Santana looked away. Although it was nowhere near a smile the corners of Santana's mouth curved upwards a little. Brittany held her gaze for a few seconds which caused Santana to wring her hand together nervously.

Seemingly picking up on the momentary change in Santana's mood, Rachel spoke up, "You know Santana, I realise that you have a very real problem with controlling your emotions and I for one think that you would genuinely benefit from a short course in anger management; but you need to realise that my pain is absolutely real. And while I respect your choice to mock my sometimes unconventional methods of dealing with this situation, I have to remind you that it is something that I simply have to do." Santana cocked an eyebrow. Although she had broken eye contact, Santana could feel Brittany still watching her as Rachel continued, "It is a proven fact that, as an artist, I have a much bigger capacity to _feel_ than most other people. That's why I was able to portray the role of Mary Magdalene so convincingly. It also means however, that when I am in times of emotional turmoil, I have to work harder than ordinary people to overcome my pain." Rachel looked down at her hands on the table for a second. It looked like she might cry. "And you have no idea, Santana, how hard it is to live with the knowledge that I have to let go of the person who I love more than anything."

Brittany still didn't look away from Santana. Santana stared intently at Rachel who was wiping away a tear. "You're right," Santana eventually said, "I have no fucking idea."

Neither Brittany nor Rachel said anything as she walked out of the room. She slammed her bedroom door shut and walked over to her bed. The duvet was bundled together by the foot of the bed where Brittany had discarded it when she got up. She could see a slight indent in the pillow. She remembered Brittany always saying that she couldn't see the use in making the bed since you were just going to sleep in it again in any case. Santana sat down on the bed, her hand sweeping across the sheet. The very faint smell of Brittany's shampoo hung in the air.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She wondered for a second if it had been a bad idea to leave Brittany and Rachel alone in the kitchen. She wondered if Brittany would tell Rachel what had happened. But then again she really didn't care. She opened her eyes and wondered if it would have been easier if she had just gotten into the bed with Brittany earlier. If she tried really hard she could almost believe that they would have simply turned around and slept until morning.

She sunk to her knees beside the bed and looked at the bookshelf in front of her. She drew her finger across the various books in front of her; searching.

_She stopped in the driveway as dusk was setting. She saw both her parents' cars park in front of the garage and looked down at her watch. They were home early, she noticed. Getting out of her car she gave a little jump to avoid the puddle of water next to her car and notice a strange car parked next to her own. A very light drizzle was still coming down. She threw her bag over her shoulder and walked towards the front door. Leaning against the heavy wooden door she could voices in the living room. She stepped into the house and walked the four steps through the foyer towards the living room. Her mother and father sat on a large leather couch opposite the fire place. Her mother sat upright holding a cup of tea and her father was nursing a drink that looked to be scotch. Opposite her mother Santana saw a lady whom she was sure she had met on some or other stage. Maybe at a church event or one of those women's morning events that her mother sometimes dragged her to. The woman's balding husband sat next to her with a dull expression on his face. _

"_Hi," Santana said with a slight wave of her hand. She was hoping to say a quick hello and then escape to her bedroom. _

"_Santana," her mother said. Her mouth smiled; her eyes didn't. "You're rather late this afternoon." _

_Santana rolled her eyes slightly. A rich statement from somebody who was barely ever home before dark, she thought. "I was at Brittany's," she said and she saw her mother's back stiffen a little more. _

"_Ah, I see," her mother said, "Brittany's." Her mother let the words hang in the air for a few moments. "Santana, do you remember Mr. and Mrs. Jordan?" _

"_Of course," Santana lied, "it's nice to see you again." _

"_Mrs. Jordan was kind enough to invite us to a talk on femininity in the work place at the women's crisis centre on Saturday morning," her mother said._

"_I volunteer there during the holidays. It's such lovely work those women do," the woman piped up. Her husband sighed. _

"_That awesome," Santana said, not really bothering to cover the sarcasm in her voice, "but way would _Papi_ want to go to a talk on femininity in the work place?" _

"_Don't be ridiculous, Santana," her mother said. While the woman sitting opposite her might not have picked up on her irritated tone of voice, Santana knew that her mother certainly did. "Mrs. Jordan invited you and me." _

"_Oh, right," Santana nodded, "I actually already have plans for Saturday morning though." _

"_A pity," the woman shook her head.  
"Cancel or postpone your plans then," her mother shrugged, "Mrs. Jordan went through a lot of trouble to get us these tickets." _

_Santana bit her bottom lip and sighed. "Well, I really can't. Brittany's dad already bought us tickets for a show at the aquarium on Saturday morning. We said that we'd take her sister, so I can't really bail now." _

_Santana saw her mother visibly inhale. She leaned forward and set her cup down before she spoke. "Well, I'm sure that they'll be able to find someone else to go. Maybe Brittany could ask Quinn," her mother said and turned towards the woman and her dull husband. "You know kids these days; they spend so much time with their friends. Always off to some big party or event somewhere." _

_Her woman merely nodded and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Santana balled her fists next to her sides. She could see that the woman knew. Obviously she knew – everybody did. But she was too polite to say anything. So she just nodded and took a sip of her tea; watching Santana over the rim of her glasses. Santana looked down at her feet. She wanted to shout at her mother. She wanted to knock the stupid cup of tea out of her hands and yell that Brittany wasn't her friend. She wasn't just some girl from cheerleading who Santana sometimes accompanied to the mall. Brittany was her Brittany, she wanted to say. She was the girl who she loved more than anything else in this world. But then again, Santana thought, everyone in the room already knew that. They knew and they choose to ignore the fact. She felt her cheeks burn red as everybody kept their eyes on her. _

"_I have homework," she said without making eye contact. She turned around and walked out of the room, wondering if this is what shame felt like. _

_She walked into her room and set down on her bed. Even though it hadn't been an hour since she left her house she wondered what Brittany was doing right now. She wondered if the candles were still burning in her room and if Brittany would finish the rest of the strawberries. She knew that any minute now Brittany's parents would be home. They would call her downstairs and talk about everyone's day and laugh and joke around. Then, Santana knew, Brittany's dad would grab a beer from the fridge and they would discuss what they would have for dinner. Perhaps they'd drive all the way to the deli in Spencerville to get lobsters. Or, if the rain had stopped by then, Brittany's dad would make a fire outside and they'd eat only canned food pretending that they'd survived an apocalypse. Just because those were the kind of things that the Pierces did._

_She reached down for her bag and pulled out the book that Brittany had given her. She studied the front cover again and wondered if the melancholic man in the picture ever loved anybody as much as she loved Brittany. She wasn't sure if it was possible. Turning over the cover page she noticed Brittany's handwriting. She must have missed it when Brittany first gave the book to her. It was on the inside of the cover page, at the very top left hand corner. _Love, that's all_, Brittany had written and in that instance Santana felt absolutely sure that love, and nothing else, was indeed all and that nothing else in the world could possibly matter. _

At the very back, hidden by all of the other books, she found it. She pulled out the book and wiped some of the dust away with her fingers. She brought it to her face and smelled the distinct smell of dust and yellowed paper. With her finger she outlined the black and white face in front of her. She sat on her knees for a while, staring at the book in her hands.

"Santana." It was Brittany's voice. She didn't know if she was calling her. There was no question in her tone. It was a statement. Confirmation that she was there.

"Santana," Brittany said again. Her voice was tender and barely audible through the closed door.

Not answering Santana stood up and walked to the door. She stood in front of the closed door, the book still in her hands, watching and listening intently.

"Please," Brittany's voice broke a little. Santana turned around and leaned against the door. "Santana," she slumped down at sat with her back against the wall.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Brittany said through the closed door, "or if I angered you somehow." Santana knew that she ought to get up and open the door. She knew that it wasn't fair to let Brittany think that she might have done something wrong. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't open the door and let Brittany in, because she wasn't sure that, if she open the door and let Brittany in, she'd be able to ever let her go again."I didn't mean to," Brittany said.

There was silence again. Maybe Brittany waited for her to respond. Maybe she just didn't know what else to say. Santana looked down at the book in her hands. She let her fingers page through it until she finally opened on a random page. She looked down at the words. The irony wasn't lost when she read through the page that was open in front of her.

_Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche._

_Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,  
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."_

_El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta._

"I thought about what you said, Santana. And you're right. I don't really know you anymore." Brittany's voice was close by. She was likely leaning against the door. Maybe she was also sitting on the floor. "And you don't really know me either. But I think that if you did know me ... I think if you knew me you'd really like me."

_Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.  
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso._

_En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.  
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito._

"And I'd really like to get to know you. So I was wondering - if you don't have anything else to do or whatever – I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me next Saturday?"

_Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.  
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos._

"We never did that whole dating to get to know each other thing. We just knew each other since like forever and then, when we eventually started dating, there was nothing left to know. And I think that if would be really nice if we got to do that."

_Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.  
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido._

"So just think about it. Okay?" She thought that she could hear Brittany stand up, but she couldn't be sure. She thought that she heard footsteps down the hall.

"Brittany?" It was a whisper. She waited although she knew that there wouldn't be any answer. She sighed and closed the book. Verses and phrases blended with Brittany's words and echoed through her head. She exhaled and put the book down on the floor next to her. She looked at the cover. Maybe the man wasn't feeling melancholic or nostalgic after all, she thought. Maybe he was just sad. Maybe he was feeling the way that she was feeling. She made no attempt to get up from the floor. Somewhere in the distance she could hear someone's alarm clock sounding. She had no idea what the time was. It must've been close to dawn already. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her knees wondering if there has ever been a person on this earth who felt more lost than she was feeling in that moment.

* * *

Santana read _Juegastodos los dias/Every day you Play _in the first flashback. She also read _Puedo escribir los versos/Tonight I can write._ Both are taken from _Pablo Neruda Selected Poems: A bilingual edition. _

Tonight I can write the saddest lines._/Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche._

Write, for example,'The night is shattered_ /Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,  
_  
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'_/y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.'_

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings._/El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta._

Tonight I can write the saddest lines._ /Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche._  
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too./_Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso._

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms_ /En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos._  
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky._/La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito._

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too./_Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería._

How could one not have loved her great still eyes._ Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos._

Tonight I can write the saddest lines./_ Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche._  
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her_ /Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido._


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: I'd like to extend my endless gratitude to TinyFi311 and Ryan47 who beta read this chapter.

**Chapter 8**

They walked down the street in silence, Santana a few steps behind Kurt and Rachel. She was quite sure that her heels weren't designed to ever walk more than four steps in. Santana sighed and pulled her black dress down over her thighs a little. Even though Rachel had already commented on her choice of dress several times earlier in the afternoon, Santana insisted that this was her little black dress and that, if Rachel wanted her to be dressed in black, this was the dress that she was going to wear. Santana hadn't anticipated however, that she'd have to walk anywhere.

She looked up and saw Kurt entwine his hand with Rachel's as they slowly made their way down the block. Kurt and Rachel were both dressed considerably less provocative than herself. Kurt sported a vintage pinstriped suit. With it he wore a black top hat which, Santana smirked, made him look like a young Willy Wonka. Next to him Rachel walked, her head bowed down, in a hideous calve-length black dress. On her head she wore a small black hat that extended to cover the one half of her face with a black netted veil and over her shoulder she carried a large black bag with yellow patterned flowers. Two knitting needles and a piece of wool poked out from the side of the bag. When Santana asked about her sudden interest in knitting earlier, Rachel merely said that it was part of the healing process.

Santana thought that, even from where she was walking behind them, Kurt and Rachel looked like quite the spectacle. They seemed oblivious to the stares of passers-by who most likely weren't used to seeing characters who looked like they escaped from the 1950's and got lost on their way to the funeral parlour walking around the city on a Tuesday afternoon.

Even though Santana had tried her best to convince her otherwise, Rachel had her mind set on the idea of a ritual ceremony to mark the end of the relationship with Finn. Santana reminded her that it was only a few weeks ago that Rachel gave her a serious talk about the severity of death. Rachel just shrugged and said that metaphors were important. To Santana's great relief Rachel had officially announced on Monday morning that she called and, after a few enquiries about the fees, she'd decided against placing an obituary in the local newspaper and would rather just text all of her friends and inform them of the untimely end of her relationship and the consequent ceremony. After some debate Kurt and Santana convinced her that a physical grave may be a little over the top; so she settled for a short ceremony behind their apartment building.

To Rachel's disappointment nobody but Kurt and Santana showed up for the ceremony. So the three of them stood around a shoe box that Rachel had filled with photos, letters, CD's, and a few items of clothing and Kurt and Santana listened as Rachel sang_ Memories._ Santana suspected that she had an elaborate set list prepared, but to her great relief Rachel only finished the first song and made it halfway into the first verse of_ Time to Say Goodbye_ before Mr. Black stuck his head out the window and yelled at them for disturbing his afternoon nap. So Kurt suggested that they rather head to a bar and end the ceremony - which Rachel referred to as a _Finneral_ -with a few drinks.

Santana looked up as the rounded the corner and approached the bar. Several of the neon lights that were supposed to brightly display its name were broken so that the sign above the door read _Getlemen'saradise Karaoke Pu. _Kurt held open the door and let Rachel and Santana step inside. Even though it was still only late afternoon it was strangely dark inside and most of the high tables and chairs were empty. A middle aged man sat at the bar counter, intently watching the TV behind the bar. Tony, the barman, leaned against the counter as he painstakingly slowly polished a beer glass. At the very end of the room there was a little stage with two microphones. The silver pole on the right side of the stage always left Santana with the sneaking suspicion that there was a time when the stage was less often used to karaoke and more often used to host strip shows. She found it amusing that, although Rachel would usually rather die than set foot in a place like this, the fact that it gave her the opportunity to sing loudly and persistently for evenings on end while Tony the barman loudly cheered her on meant that the _Gentlemen's Paradise Karaoke Pub _was one of Rachel's favourite places to hang out.

"It really is a shame that Brittany couldn't make it," Rachel sighed as they sat down at one on the tables.

Upon hearing Brittany's name Santana felt an oddly familiar feeling swoop through her body. Like something from a dream that she could only vaguely remember. She wasn't sure what exactly this feeling was, but it made her remember that Rachel had been in the kitchen and that she talked to Brittany about this stupid Finneral. And then she remembered why Brittany was alone in the kitchen in the first place. She was alone because Santana walked out. She ran away. Brittany kissed her and she left her standing alone in the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Over the course of the last three days Santana had discovered that, even all of these years later, she was still really good at comfortably slipping into a state of denial. She spent most of Saturday sleeping and when she ran into Brittany on Sunday morning she kept mostly quiet. She wasn't sure what to say and she had this same feeling that she couldn't quite place then. The familiarity of avoiding Brittany's eyes and lowering her voice an octave in an attempt to sound more confident sat uncomfortably comfortable with her. She thought that this was the way she imagined a recovering alcoholic must feel the morning after they finally relapsed and had that drink. Brittany hadn't said much either. She nodded her head and mostly looked away. The expression on her face was one that Santana knew from long ago.

Santana spent the rest of the day walking around the city. She went to the park and sat down on one of the benches, but she didn't really think about anything. She stared at the playing children, watched couples walk by and every now and then, when this strange feeling would swoop over her, she'd shake her head, look at the trees and not think about anything at all.

"And although it is a pity that most people couldn't make it this afternoon," Rachel said theatrically and put her hand on her heart, "I am glad that the three of us could share this afternoon together. And that I can now finally close this painful chapter of my life and attempt to readjust my ontological perspective so that I am able to view myself as a strong independent woman. And with that said, I need to thank the two of you for standing by me through these trying times." Kurt patted Rachel's shoulder sympathetically. She turned to Santana. "And to you especially Santana. I know that you don't always appreciate my dramatic take on the world – in fact I sometimes think that you don't appreciate any of me at all –but still you stayed with me and listened to my crying about Finn and allowed me to mourn and I wanted to thank you for that. And for everything you did this weekend."

Santana's head snapped up and she eyed Rachel suspiciously; her thoughts racing back to Saturday morning. Her bed. The kitchen. A kiss. Another kiss. Brittany's voice against her bedroom door. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Kurt tilt his head curiously. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said, looking away. The strange feeling swooped over her again.

"Well," Rachel said, "I just mean that I know that it might have been a little selfish of me to take Brittany's couch, although I still insist that you should have woken me. I simply couldn't stand spending another night in the room where everything reminded me of him and I appreciate that you let me sleep despite the fact that it meant you had to stay up all night. I won't hug you right now, but I wanted you to know that I really appreciate it."

Santana nodded and closed her eyes. She thought back to Saturday night. And then she understood. She understood what this nagging feeling was. It had been years since she felt this. This feeling that she used to have all the time. The feeling that she had when she watched Brittany walked down the hallway with some random guy. The feeling that she had when she woke up in the middle of the night next to Brittany and felt too scared to turn around. And suddenly she vividly remembered the feeling of wanting more than anything to talk, to watch, to feel, to touch, to be; and wanting more than anything to run and hide. She remembered the way guilt would overcome her when she couldn't look Brittany in the eye as she told her that all best friends made out all the time. It was the same nausea she felt when Brittany asked her if she was avoiding her after they had sex the first time and all she could do was push her up against a wall behind her garage. And she knew that it was this same feeling that came back and sat in the pit of her stomach now. The feeling of fluttering hearts and knotted stomachs and the need to ignore it all and walk away. Guilt and excitement and anxiety and fear and butterflies. It was there then and it was here now.

"Oh god," she muttered, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked. Santana wasn't sure how much Rachel had told him about what happened on Friday night. But then again, she also wasn't sure how much Rachel even knew about Friday night.

"I'm sixteen," she said slowly. "I'm fucking sixteen again."

"While I do agree that even at the best of times you're often not the most mature individual, I think that you are possibly being the slightest bit melodramatic here, Santana," he said.

She shook her head slowly, not looking up. "No," she said, "no, I'm not." Kurt didn't say anything. Santana thought that maybe he was waiting for her to continue, but she just pursed her lips together. She reached down and took her phone from her purse. Her fingers moved quickly and, afraid that her courage would disappear, she didn't pause before hitting the send button.

_I'm so sorry. _

She turned her head slowly as she set her phone down on the counter until she finally looked up at Kurt's questioning face. He looked puzzled. Rachel seemed too busy readjusting her veil to notice. "I'm gonna go get something to drink," Santana said, getting up from the table. "You guys want anything?"

"Tony will know," Rachel said and also stood up from her chair, "I need to run to the ladies room for a second."

"And I will have a Cosmo," Kurt said and threw Santana a questioning look. "And some light - to shed on your strange behaviour."

Santana ignored the obvious question in his remark and walked to the bar. As she stood by the bar waiting for their drinks she didn't look back to their table, but she could feel Kurt's eyes on her. Tony placed a shot of tequila in front of her and she felt her throat burn a little when she slammed the empty shot glass back on the counter. She walked back slowly with three glasses balanced between her hands.

"I'm doing it again," she said softly when she sat down. She didn't know why she was even saying it aloud. She wasn't sure if she was talking to Kurt as much as she was talking to herself. "I'm doing it again and I'm going to fuck everything up again."

"Do elaborate," he said with a wave of his hand.

"I just-" she started before they were interrupted by Rachel's theatrical return to their table.

"I just spoke with Tony at the bar on my way back from the bathroom and he too thinks that this separation might be for the best," Rachel sighed once she was seated. "He said that he thinks we should think about transforming this experience into a play or musical of sorts."

"You and Tony?" Kurt asked with a raised eyebrow and Rachel nodded eagerly. Kurt looked over to the bar where Tony was polishing glasses and staring in their direction. He frowned. "Seriously, Santana? Not even a little comment?" he asked, looking back at her. "Not even a 'That's because he wants to make you _sing_,' or a 'Does he know you're half midget?' from you?"

Santana shrugged and took a few large sips from her drink.

"Come to think of it," Rachel said, "you have been rather quiet lately. I just assumed that it was in solidarity with my pain, but I must admit that I do find it quite puzzling that you have now let several opportunities to insult us go by without so much as a hint of sarcasm."

"Fascinating," Kurt said, rubbing his chin.

"So let me get this straight," Santana said as she looked from Kurt to Rachel. "You _want_ me to be a bitch? Are you some kind of a masochist? Because there's a massage parlour just a few blocks away that caters for that kind of thing!"

"There she is!"Kurt yelled jubilantly.

"Santana, I was merely suggesting," Rachel explained, "that it isn't often that you let the opportunity pass to display your somewhat provocative and often brutal – albeit amusing – sense of humour."

"Fine, whatever. So I got my eyebrows waxed and then lost my genius ability to insult your hideous dress sense. Call me fucking Samson!" She took a few gulps to finish her drink and set the empty glass back on the table. "Jesus, I need another drink," she said as she stood up from the table. "Do you want anything? Frodo? Mr. Wonka?"

Kurt gestured to both his and Rachel's still almost full glasses and shook his head. Santana shrugged and walked to the bar.

She returned to the table with her own drink in one hand and three short of tequila carefully balanced in the other. "So," she said, setting the drinks down on the table, "let's drink to my wonderful sense of humour." Not waiting for Kurt or Rachel she took one of the shots, threw head back and slammed the table with her open hand as she felt the liquid burn down the back of her throat.

"You didn't bring lemons or salt," Kurt complained. She opened her mouth to reply when her phone vibrated on the table in front of her. She looked down and saw a message icon and Brittany's name flash on the screen. "Fine, I'll just go get it myself," she heard Kurt say, but ignored him and threw back another one of the shots. She nervously tapped her fingers on the table for a few seconds before she grabbed the phone off the table and, without looking, opened the message. It took another few seconds before she looked down at the screen.

_I have a car and it's silver. I don't have a favorite movie, because I think it's unfair towards all the other movies. I live at 76 Brooklyn Avenue, Columbus, Ohio. _

She blinked confused a few times before she remembered. _I don't know you_, she had told Brittany a few days ago._ I don't know your favorite movie or what color car you drive. I don't even know if you have a car. Or where you live. We're strangers. _She read the text again and then one more time. Unsure of what else to do, she downed the last shot of tequila and leaned back against her chair. She slowly felt the alcohol travel through her body. She felt her legs become a little heavier and her head a little lighter. It somehow made her feel better and worse at the same time.

"Really?" Kurt interrupted her thoughts. He was holding up a salt shaker and a few slices of lemon and pointed towards the three empty shot glasses in front of Santana. "All three of them? Rachel, could you please restrain her if she tries to eat all the lemons or lick the salt or something? I'll be right back," he said and headed back to the bar again.

Santana looked down at her phone again and took a sip of vodka and lime from the glass in front of her. She bit her lip as her fingers paused above the screen. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that made her feel brave. Perhaps it was the fact that Brittany suddenly felt very far away; as though Santana couldn't remember if maybe she'd dreamt it all. She quickly glanced over to Rachel who was trying to fish out the cherry from the bottom of her drink. Santana quickly typed out a message and pressed the send button.

_My favourite restaurant is a little Mexican place near my school. Kurt and Rachel have never been there because they say it looks dirty._

"There we are," Kurt said and placed three shot glasses on the table. He pushed one of the glasses towards Rachel and then took one himself. He hesitated for a second before setting the final shot in front of Santana. She ignored the questioning glance he threw her and unlike Kurt and Rachel she didn't bother to take a slice of lemon.

"Well," Rachel said as she raised the shot in her hand, "let's drink to a new emancipated Rachel Berry! A Rachel Berry who will strive towards independent self-actualisation and who will enigmatically bedazzle every single theatre goer and critic in the year to come!"

"To the new Rachel Berry," Kurt repeated and raised his shot as well, "and the old, but nonetheless fabulous, Kurt Hummel!"

"And to Santana," Rachel said with her shot still raised, "who - although incredibly inappropriately dressed – is here this afternoon to support one of her oldest friends in this time of heart ache."

Santana rolled her eyes and threw back the shot. She frowned at the squealing noises Kurt and Rachel made after drinking their shots and took a sip of the drink in front of her. Her phone lit up on the table and, trying her best not to draw Kurt and Rachel's attention, she slid it off the table and onto her lap. She looked down at the screen and felt her mouth curve into the faintest of smiles.

_Sometimes I dream about whales._

"Santana, are you listening at all?" she heard Rachel ask.

"No, not really," Santana shook her head. "What did you say?"

"Well, as I was just telling Kurt while you clearly weren't paying any attention," Rachel said looking offended, "I really think that we need to revisit this issue about my name."

"I just don't understand how you find space to store so much crazy in such a tiny body," Santana said. She glanced down at her phone again.

"As you know I feel rather attached to my name – I'm sure you remember the fight I had with Finn about my not wanting to take his surname – but having said that I do feel that my name is perhaps a tad too ordinary to really grab the attention of a broader audience." Santana sipped her drink and stared at Rachel with a blank expression. "What I mean to say is that although 'Rachel Berry' definitely has the potential to become a household name – it's short enough to remember and easily rolls of the tongue -"

"Wanky," Santana said, her fingers quickly and silently typing under the table.

"But I feel," Rachel continued, "that 'Rachel' such a common name that I face the risk of blending into a sea of Rachels easily and that people might mistake me for someone else. And I need to draw attention, to stand out! So I was thinking that maybe I should follow Barbra's example." She took a pen and a notebook from her bag and scribbles something down. "Right now I'm contemplating substituting the 'ch' with a 'g' or a 'sj' so that the pronunciation would remain the same but it would stand out in written form."

She held up the notebook for Santana and Kurt to see. In big block letters she'd written _Ragel Berry _at the top of the page. Directly underneath it she wrote _Rasjel Berry_.

"Ragel as in bagel?" Kurt asked with a frown.

"It sounds like an Israeli holiday delicacy," Santana added. She felt her phone vibrate on her lap, but didn't look down.

"But you would remember it right? It would scream at you from the entertainment pages of the Times or billboards across the city and you wouldn't find yourself confused as to which Rachel I am!" Rachel said enthusiastically.

Santana took the time to quickly look down at her phone. _I sometimes order scotch on the rocks when I'm out to look cooler_. She felt light headed. She didn't want to do this; she really didn't. But at the same time she wanted to know everything. She wanted to read every single text that Brittany could possibly send. She wanted to know every trivial detail about Brittany's life. She felt the strange feeling that she'd been carrying around since the weekend – the dream like feeling from long ago – slowly subside. And in its place she felt an odd sense of sadness. She thought about how that there were so many things about Brittany that she didn't know. She reminded herself of all of the little moments that she had missed out on and she felt her throat become a little thicker.

"Brittany asked me out." Her hand flew to her mouth the moment she spoke.

"What?" Rachel exclaimed.

"Dear god, no!" Kurt said.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Santana asked, looking from Kurt to Rachel and then back at Kurt again. For a second she forgot that she hadn't really meant to say anything. She forgot that she was feeling incredibly sad and that she just wanted a few words of encouragement. Someone to tell her that she wasn't being as fucked up as the voice in her head insisted.

"Nothing," Kurt raised his hands defensively, "it's just that ... well ... do you even remember what happened last time? Do you not remember how terrible you felt when things didn't work out between you guys? You were heartbroken for two whole years! Two years, which I might add, the rest of us mostly spent in constant fear of your piercing tongue and flaming remarks -"

"I suspect that what Kurt is trying to say – if I may -" Rachel interrupted, "is that we were here for you and with you during those very trying times and that we simply have your best interest at heart. As we also have Brittany's interest at heart. And we want neither of you to get hurt. Also, as Kurt mentioned, I strongly believe that there is a very direct causal link between the state of your love life and the levels of acceptance and tolerance that you show towards those around you."

"Exactly," Kurt said, "and I don't know if we could survive another few months of living in the middle of a lesbian _10 Things I Hate about You_. There were days when I genuinely feared for my life."

"I said that she asked me out, that doesn't mean that I said yes," she said and felt the sadness return. Perhaps it was just the alcohol, she thought. Perhaps she wasn't even sad about Brittany at all and she should have just kept quiet.

"So you said no?" Kurt asked cautiously.

"No. I didn't say anything." She felt deflated. "She left before I could say anything." She looked down and suddenly wondered why she didn't say anything. Why didn't she open her door? Why didn't she run after Brittany?

Kurt and Rachel spent the next half an hour drawing out every single detail of Santana's every conversation and interaction with Brittany since the night she first arrived in the city. And despite the fact that she didn't really feel like talking about it, Santana listened and answered most of their question. She told them about the awkward silences when she and Brittany were alone. She told Kurt about her fight with Brittany and Rachel interrupted to remind her that she thought Brittany looked really hot when she was angry. She told them how she ran into Brittany and how they had coffee on the little bench. She told them about Brittany asking her to come to her rehearsal and how they got ice-cream afterwards. Finally she told them how Brittany came to her room and asked her out on Saturday morning and how she just sat on her bedroom floor until Brittany had left again.

She didn't tell them how her heart beat a little faster every time Brittany came into the room. She didn't tell them how she suddenly remembered how she would sometimes catch Brittany randomly smiling at her when they walked around school. Or how she still loved the way Brittany looked when she was concentrating. She didn't tell them how she still remembered every single curve and contour of Brittany's body and how wonderful she smelled when Santana stood close to her. Or how she lay awake at night recounting all of the little things that she used to love about Brittany; torturing herself as she thought of how much she could remember. And she didn't tell them about the kiss. She told them everything but these things; these little things she quietly and safely kept close to her heart.

It was a little past six when Santana finally walked out of the bar, leaving Kurt and Rachel to have the in depth discussion about her that she knew they were dying to have. She walked the few blocks to the subway and took a seat. She ignored the look that the teenage boy who sat opposite her gave her and took out her phone. The little message icon was still flashing. There were three messages waiting. She leaned back in her seat and opened the first message._ One day I'd like to go to Russia_, she read.

She closed her eyes for a second and remembered the countless nights she spent in high school laying on her bed and texting Brittany. Some nights their texts would be more risqué, other times they would simply talk about school and cheerleading and all things trivial. Sometimes Santana would wake up in the middle of the night to find a text from Brittany telling her that she misses her even though she'd see her at school in a few hours or a message that simply read _I love you_.

She looked down and opened the next two messages. The first was from Rachel asking her to please be safe and let her know when she'll be home. The second was another text from Brittany. _My favourite flowers used to be daisies, but now they're lilies._ She thought for a moment before she replied. _Rachel once took me to the opera and I hated every minute of it._

She spent the next few hours on the train, watching people come and go. Occasionally she would glance down at her phone and eagerly open the waiting text messages. She wondered what Brittany was doing at this very moment. If Brittany smiled when she saw a new incoming message the way Santana did. She briefly contemplated whether this was the best idea. But then she saw a new text from Brittany and decided that she would worry about that later. Right now she wouldn't care whether it was appropriate to spend an evening on a subway train, texting your ex-girlfriend. Right now she would just sit back and slowly, cautiously like one would unwrap the most precious of gifts, savour every one of Brittany's messages.

It was nearly nine when she scrolled down to the first of Brittany's texts and slowly read everything again. _Lord Tubbington died on the 7th of May the year before last. I don't like Angelina Jolie. I baked a cake today. I prefer coffee to tea. I once dyed my hair black and I looked terrible. I rarely watch any television. I still don't know how to whistle. I hate my landlord. I've never broken a bone. I like Nina Simone. I want to learn another language. I once bought a white power suit but I almost never had the opportunity to wear it. _Santana reread every single text that Brittany had sent that afternoon. There were thirty eight. None of them went beyond stating mere facts about her life, her likes and dislikes, and things that she still wanted to do or accomplish. And so, even though there were a million questions that she wanted to ask, Santana had simply replied to each with a little snippet from her own life.

* * *

Santana always enjoyed the rare moments of silence in the apartment when Rachel wasn't home. She was curled up in one of the chairs in the living room on Friday evening when they came in. She saw Brittany first and smiled. Perhaps they would continue the strange conversation that they had started via text message earlier in the week, Santana thought. Maybe they would sit in the living room and exchange weird little facts about themselves. But then she saw her. She was standing a few steps behind Brittany. Santana slowly put down her magazine down and stood up.

"Hi," Santana said, her eyes shifting from Brittany to the woman who was standing behind her.

"Hey," Brittany said and the women gave a step forward so that she was now standing next to Brittany. Santana kept her gaze firmly fixed on the woman.

Brittany must have noticed that her eyes were focused on the women. "Oh, Santana, this is Flippy," she said. She turned to the woman and then pointed towards Santana. "This is Santana."

"Nice to meet you," the woman said and smiled.

"Flippy?" Santana knitted her eyebrows together. Santana didn't miss the look that Brittany gave her. It was the same look that she used to throw Santana when they were in high school and she thought that Santana was stepping out of line.

"Yea, it's short for Flipper," the woman said.

"Like a dolphin?" Santana felt quite sure that even if she didn't instantly dislike the woman for the way that she was looking at Brittany, a million jokes about the woman's name would still have popped into her head.

"Something like that. It's a nickname. Quite obviously, "Flippy said and looked over to Brittany. Santana narrowed her eyes a little as she tried to see whether Brittany would return the look. She didn't.

"Uhm, Flippy is one of the other dancers in the show," Brittany started, "I ran into her on my way here from the airport."

"That's nice," Santana said, although she didn't think that it was nice at all.

"We had a quick drink," the woman said. Santana wasn't sure if she was bragging or simply trying to make conversation. "I live, like, two blocks down, so I thought I'd walk Brittany home and I could see where she's staying. You know ... just to know."

"That's nice," Santana said again. She was sure that she hated this woman.

"Would you like anything else to drink?" Brittany asked sweetly. "Coffee? Tea? Juice? Some water?"

"Some water would be awesome," the woman said and sat down on the couch. Santana rolled her eyes. She had hoped that _walking Brittany home_ would imply that, since Brittany is obviously home now, Flippy would immediately leave again. But judging by the way that she was now comfortably seated, Santana suspected that she wasn't about to leave just yet.

"Sure," Brittany nodded. She turned around when she'd almost reached the door. "Would you like anything?"

Santana looked up and just shook her head. When Brittany turned around and walked out of the room, Santana returned her attention to Flippy who was still sitting on the couch, looking around the apartment. Trying her best not to be too obvious, she quickly surveyed the woman. Her shoulder length hair didn't reveal much, but she had short nails and wore blue sneakers. She wore no make-up except for a little black eyeliner. Santana narrowed her eyes as she tried to see if she was wearing earrings. Fuck, she thought. She sighed and berated herself for drawing on vulgar stereotypes. Still, she thought, desperate times called for desperate measures and right now her gaydar was telling her that these were pretty desperate times.

"Here you go," Brittany said when she walked back into the living room with a glass of water.

"Thanks," Flippy said and when she saw the way she looked at Brittany, Santana was absolutely sure that her gaydar had been spot on. She felt silently thankful when Brittany went to sit in the vacant chair and not on the couch next to Flippy.

Santana knew that, at this point, it would only be polite to make up some excuse and leave them alone. She knew from the way that Flippy was looking at her that she was waiting for Santana to leave; to mumble something about having to do work for school and wait in her room until she could hear that Brittany was alone again. But she shifted a little in her seat, folded her hands in her lap and smiled awkwardly. Flippy gave her an annoyed smile in return, but Brittany, if anything, looked amused. Eventually Flippy must have sensed that Santana has no intention of leaving, because she started mumbling something incoherent about some or other choreographer.

Santana paid little attention to the conversation. She kept her hand in her lap, her eyes constantly moving from Brittany to the woman sitting on the couch. She wanted to catch Brittany's eye. She wanted to ask her who the fuck this woman was. And why she brought her here. She wanted to ask Brittany if she felt oddly happy every time she received a texted from Santana and if she too knew every text that they had exchanged during the week off by heart. But Brittany made polite conversation about the coming winter and the difficulties of trying to make a living as a dancer. Once, as her gaze travelled from the couch to where Brittany was sitting, Santana was sure that Brittany was looking at her. But she diverted her eyes and there was no way that Santana could really be sure.

"I suppose I should get going," Flippy said after forty five minutes or so. She threw Santana a rather unfriendly look.

"I'll walk you out," Brittany said and got up from her chair. "Are you also going somewhere?" It was only when Brittany asked the question that Santana realised that she also stood up from her chair.

"Uhm, yea," she looked around the room uncomfortably. "I'm gonna go have a cigarette."

Brittany smiled with raised eyebrows. "I'll be right back," she said softly.

Flippy didn't say anything when they turned around and walked out the front door.

Santana stood in the living room for a second before she grabbed a packet of cigarettes from her bag and walked out the door. She walked down the hallway and pushed open the steel door to the fire escape. She sat down and pulled a cigarette from the packet. She lit it and took a drag. Slowly exhaling she watched the cigarette in her hands. She was suddenly fascinated by the way she could watch it burn; trying to see how long the ash tip would grow before it fell to the ground.

She didn't immediately look up when she heard the door creak open.

"You shouldn't smoke," Brittany said from the doorway.

"No, I shouldn't," Santana said. She looked at the cigarette in her hand for a second and then threw the bud down on the ground.

"You also shouldn't litter," Brittany said and took a few steps closer. "That's how my aunt's second husband lost all his teeth. First they turned yellow, then they turned brown and then they just fell out."

"From littering?" Santana frowned. The wind was gently blowing through Brittany's hair.

"From smoking. Smoking makes your teeth fall out. Littering makes you a bad citizen." Brittany shrugged. "But it's confusing, because if nobody littered the street cleaners wouldn't have jobs and their families would starve, so I guess people like you have some purpose," she said and it took a moment before Santana noticed her mouth corners curving upwards into a smirk. She liked it when Brittany smiled, she thought.

"What can I say?" Santana said. She wondered if Brittany had always looked this good in jeans. "The world obviously needs me."

Brittany said nothing, but stepped closer to sit down on the step next to Santana. Ordinarily the steps would be more than wide enough for two people to sit on. She and Rachel had often sat on these same steps together talking about this or that. Sometimes they would come out there when Rachel wanted to practice her vocal projection. But now the steps felt strangely narrow. She didn't look but she could feel Brittany sitting close by. She could feel their thighs almost – though not quite - touch and she wringed her hands together nervously.

"So," Santana said and shifted her legs a little, "did you have fun tonight?"

"Yea, I did." Brittany bit her lip. "I mean, I've been coming here for almost two months and I've never really been out and I haven't really seen much of the city, so that was fun. And Flippy's lived here her whole life, so she knows all these cool places."

"I bet she does." Santana pursed her lips together and looked down at her hands on knees. She glanced over to Brittany who was staring down at the street. "Are you going to go out again?" She wasn't sure why she asked, because she certainly didn't want to know the answer.

"I don't know. Maybe," Brittany said and Santana hated the honest tone of her voice. She turned to Santana and smiled. "It wasn't a date though." Santana released the breath she was holding. "I mean, it was just ... it's nice to have friends when I'm here."

"Yea," Santana said, "it's hard. Not knowing anybody here."

Brittany turned to look down at the street again. They sat in silence for a minute or two. Santana glanced over to Brittany who seemed deep in thought. She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask Brittany if she could rather be the friend to show her around the city. She wanted to tell her that she also knew all the cool places. That she was sorry for all of a sudden being sixteen again.

"You asked me out last weekend," Santana finally said and she tapped her feet nervously.

"Yea, I did." Brittany slowly turned her head towards Santana. She looked at her with a curious expression as though she couldn't understand why Santana would bring that up now. She didn't look upset about it though. Perhaps she was just surprised that Santana would mention it at all.

"You didn't wait to hear my answer," Santana said hesitantly. She tapped her fingers against the packet of cigarettes nervously.

"I think your answer was pretty clear, Santana," Brittany said. She still didn't look upset.

"Oh," Santana said. She didn't really know what else to add. There were a hundred thoughts swarming around her head. A thousand ways of explaining to Brittany how she felt._ My answer wasn't clear at all_, she wanted to say. _You left. I wanted to talk to you, but then you were gone and I was scared_, she wanted to say_._ But none of these thoughts seem to form coherent sentences.

Brittany leaned over and took the packet of cigarettes from her hands. Santana felt Brittany's fingers brush over her own. Soft slender fingers that sent electricity through her body. Brittany looked at the packet for a second and then stood up. "You really shouldn't smoke," she said and started walking to the door.

"Brittany?" She had almost reached the door.

"Hmm?" She paused, but didn't turn around.

For a moment Santana didn't know why she had called out her name. She thought of all of the things that she knew she wouldn't be brave enough to say. She took a deep breath. "Do you want to go out?" It took her a second to understand what she had just asked Brittany.

Brittany turned around slowly and tilted her head a little. "Out where?" She was looking at Santana curiously. A smiled played around her mouth corners and Santana knew that she was doing this on purpose.

"You know what I mean," she said softly. She raised her head to catch Brittany's eye and wondered it Brittany would notice the way that her chest moved with her rapid breathing.

"Say it." Brittany's voice was almost inaudibly soft, but she kept their eyes locked. "I want you to say it."

Santana took another deep breath. She looked down at her hands again. "Would you like to go out with me?" she repeated. She got up from the step and took a step closer to Brittany. "Would you like to go out on a date? With me? Would you like to go out on a date with me?"

Brittany lowered her gaze to where Santana's heart was beating erratically. Then she looked back up and her smile grew wider. "I'd like that," she nodded. "I'd really like that."

And still smiling, but without saying another word, Brittany turned around and walked out the door. Allowing the light breeze to cool her face, Santana stood there for a second before she quickly made her way to the door and followed Brittany down the hallway and back into the apartment.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: All my thanks go to TinyFi311 and Ryan47 for beta reading this chapter.

**Chapter 9**

_They never stayed in the same house for long. Every few months Santana would wake up to find a text from Brittany that merely gave an unfamiliar street address. She never added anything else and Santana always understood. She knew that she would arrive at school that morning and that Brittany wouldn't be there. She'd walk around with Quinn or some of the other girls aimlessly during lunch. Sometimes she'd use the last period to make Brittany a list of all of their homework. Brittany never used to bother with catching up on lost school work, but now that they were sophomores things were getting a little harder and she'd sometimes let Santana help her with the math or Spanish that she'd miss. When the bell finally rang she'd quickly make her way to the unknown address that Brittany had sent her. The address that she knew would soon become familiar; for a few months at least. _

_She'd know that she was at the right house when she saw the giant purple ceramic deer on the front lawn. When she stepped closer to the house she'd hear a cacophony of country music and talk radio and different televisions playing from different rooms in the house. Santana was always amazed by how quickly the Pierces were able to move. Santana's family had only moved once in her life and that was a dragged out and exhausting process. Her mother went around listing every single item in the house, painstakingly colour coding everything, and on the day of the move several men in blue overalls showed up and moved everything into their new house. The Pierces, on the other hand, usually just piled everything into their old Honda and make a few trips to move everything to their new house. Sometimes, Santana knew because she'd cut school a few times to help, Brittany's uncle would drive in with his semi and a trailer to help with the furniture. _

_Santana would walk up to the front door and let herself in. Mr Pierce said that it was rude to ring the bell when she was like family. So she would slowly open the door and step over the boxes that would clutter the living room and she'd shout a hello to Mrs Pierce who would be sitting on the kitchen floor unpacking. Sometimes Mrs Pierce would call her over and they'd exchange a few words. Then she'd quickly run up the stairs, peeking her head into each room until she'd finally find Brittany. Regardless of the house that they were living in, Brittany would always keep her room the exact same way. The bed would face South West. To the right side of her bed she'd carefully arrange her photos in the same order – the one where she was smiling broadly at the camera, the one where she was she was holding the wooden duck, the one in her cheerleading uniform in middle school, the one where she dressed as a hippy for Halloween in 8th grade. Opposite the left side of the bed she'd put her desk and chair. Santana once asked Brittany why she insisted on rearranging her room the exact same way every time and Brittany simply shrugged that she didn't want everything in her room to feel confused. "We move a lot and it's confusing," she said. "I like it when things stay the same. And my things like it too."_

_It was a Friday when Santana made her way over to the house on Peter Avenue. She saw the purple deer and smiled. She quickly climbed the four steps leading up to the front door and pushed it open. The house was still quite empty. By the looks of it Brittany's uncle hadn't arrived with the furniture yet. She poked her head around the corner and gave Mrs. Pierce – who was sitting on the living room floor with a wine cooler and a couple of doughnuts – a quick wave before she ran up the stairs. The first room was dark and full of boxes that all said Future Business Ideas and, ominously, second room was empty, but had some of Brittany's little sister's stuff scattered around. She found Brittany in the third room. _

_"Hi," Santana called from the doorway. _

_Brittany looked up from where she was sitting on her desk chair unpacking stationary. "Hey," she said, putting down a pair of scissors next to a packet of crayons. She smiled. God, how Santana loved it when she smiled. She watched as Brittany jumped up from her chair and made her way over to Santana. She wrapped her in a hug and Santana smelled the honey and flowers in her hair. _

_"You need any help?" Santana asked when Brittany pulled away. Apart from her desk and desk chair, there were a few unpacked boxes standing around the room. Lord Tubbington was sleeping on the curtains that were lying in the corner. Without Brittany's bed and dresser the room seemed oddly large. _

_"I'm okay," Brittany said, "I'm not really doing anything. I'm pretending to sort out some of my stuff, 'cause I don't feel like helping my mom unpack down stairs rights now." She frowned slightly and sighed. "I never understand where all of the kitchen utensils go and then I just mess up everything. Last year we found a set of silver spoons underneath the dryer when we were packing."_

_"Well, I'm sure you had a good reason for putting them there," Santana said and sat down on the floor next to her when Brittany went to sit on her chair again. _

_"Yea," Brittany bit her lower lip and nodded, "I'm pretty sure it had something to do with house elf economy. It was when I was going through that activist phase when I also set all of the lab mice free." She seemed deep in thought for a moment. "Would you like something to eat? I think my mom got some pizza earlier."_

_"I'm fine thanks." Santana stared at Brittany's calf in front of her. She was slowly swaying her legs back and forth. She raised her left hand and let her fingers gently touch Brittany's leg in front of her. When Brittany stopped moving her legs Santana continued to lightly stroke up and down the side of her calve. "Do you think you'll be busy unpacking all weekend?" Santana asked after a while. Her voice was a little huskier than she'd intended. _

_"I don't think so." Brittany's voice was soft. She was waiting for Santana; it was the game that they played._

_"You want to do something?" She kept stroking, letting her hand move higher up. _

_"Sure." Brittany looked down at her and Santana looked away. "What were you thinking?"_

_"I don't know." Santana stopped stroking and let her hand rest on Brittany's knee. Her thumb drew small circles. "I was thinking that maybe you could come over tomorrow. We haven't had a sleepover in a while." _

_"That sounds nice," Brittany said. _

_"Yea," Santana nodded, feeling a little more confident. "Maybe we could go see a movie or something tomorrow night?"_

_"Just us?"_

_Santana could hear the excitement in Brittany's voice. Just them. She felt a little nauseous. Just the two of them. Two years ago it wouldn't have been weird. It would've just been two friends going to see a movie, maybe grabbing a bite to eat. But then again, two years ago she wouldn't have had to worry about Brittany's hand so close to her hand on the arm rest between their seats. She wouldn't have had to think about whether it was wrong to miss half the movie because she kept glancing over to Brittany who was sitting next to her. And she definitely wouldn't have had to spend the entire duration of the movie thinking about the thing that she knew would happen when they got home later that night. When they would change into the shortest shorts and tiny shirts and get into bed next to one another. She knew that it would happen and in the moment she wouldn't care, because it would be dark and it would be Brittany. But then she'd wake up in the middle of the night – naked – and she'd lie in bed trying to remember how this all started and trying to figure out how to make it go away again. _

_"No, no." She was a coward. "I meant that maybe we could ask Puck or Mike or some of the guys to go with." She retracted her hand from Brittany's leg. "You know, whoever wants to go so that we don't have to pay for ourselves."_

_"Oh," Brittany said. _

_"It'll be fun," Santana said. It wouldn't be fun. She knew it wouldn't but they'd do it nonetheless, because that's what they needed to do._

* * *

"Swear it!" Santana said, raising her index finger threateningly.

"I swear!" Kurt shifted a little on the bed.

"Swear on Alexander McQueen's grave!" Santana got up and walked over to the door. She quickly closed it before she walked back to where Kurt was sitting on her bed.

"That's blasphemous, Santana," Kurt said seriously and tucked at the scarf around his neck.

"Do it!" Santana was pacing up and down in front of the bed. She kept glancing over to the door suspiciously to make sure that Rachel still wasn't home.

"Okay, okay," Kurt held up his right hand, "I swear on Alexander McQueen's grave that I won't tell Rachel."

"Fine," Santana turned around and reached for the notebook on her desk, "and if you tell her, believe me, I will kill you!"

"Santana, relax!"

"I'm serious, young lady," she took a step closer to where Kurt was sitting, "I will hunt you down, pin you to the floor, take out my Swiss Army knife, cut off your little taco and hang it around my neck to use as a teeny tiny little coin purse."

Kurt held his hand over his crotch protectively. "That is ridiculous, Santana!" he said, "And since I don't have a vagina and you don't have a Swiss Army knife, I'm just going to ignore this little outburst. But you see? This is what I meant! It hasn't even been two full days and already the threats have begun." He straightened his back a little and adjusted his hair in the mirror opposite Santana's bed. "Could we just do whatever insanity it is that you want us to do now? I have an appointment to have my lashes tinted in less than an hour."

Santana frowned at him for a second before she looked down at the notebook she was holding. "Okay, so I've been -"

"I just still don't understand why you won't tell Rachel," Kurt interrupted.

"Because, first of all, I'm trying to be a considerate roommate," Santana said and sighed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone who knows me knows that I always try to put others' needs, comfort and wellbeing before my own and I don't want to make her uncomfortable. What if it's a disaster? I don't want to put Rachel in the middle of something between me and Brittany and then have it potentially be even more awkward than it already would be." Kurt nodded slowly. "And second of all – and for me this is the deciding factor – Bagel Berry has a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon and she can in no way be trusted not to embarrass me. Seriously, I wouldn't put it past her to take out an ad in the local newspaper of throw us a surprise party or something. And I can't risk her walking around with all this knowledge and, god forbid, deciding that she might want to have a friendly conversation with Brittany about this whole thing. Do you even realise how much dirt that midget has on me? Do you know how many embarrassing stories she knows about me? I mean she'd be able to do more damage than a hundred loving, but overbearing mothers could do in a thousand years."

"Right," Kurt said slowly. "So I won't tell Rachel. Can we get on with it now? I still don't really understand your problem?"

"My problem is that I'm freaking the fuck out!" Santana looked over to the door again when she realised that she had raised her voice a little. "I have to plan this stupid date and I don't know what the fuck to do! Where do I take her? What do I do? Should I buy like flowers or something?"

"What do you usually do on dates?" Kurt asked.

"I buy her two drinks and ask if she wants to go back to her place," she said.

"Such sophistication, such class," Kurt said and shook his head. "Not to fear, my incapable Sapphic friend, I'm sure we'll figure it out. So, what are some of your ideas?"

"Well," she held up the notebook for Kurt to see, "so far I've made, like, a list with these different categories of possible options. So far I have 'casual afternoon', 'casual evening', 'more formal early evening', 'more formal late evening', 'very fucking fancy evening', and 'call Brittany and cancel the whole thing'."

"I think you should immediately take off the last option," Kurt said seriously.

"Cancelling?"

"Santana, you're not going to cancel this whole thing now!" Kurt said, "I really don't want to be woken in the middle of the night again by Brittany wanting to know from me why you don't like her and why you don't want to go out with her. Hearing Brittany's sad voice is like listening to a puppy being drowned and if I don't get at least seven hours of sleep a night I wake up in the morning looking like Willem Dafoe."

"Wait, what?" Santana narrowed her eyes slightly, "Brittany spoke to you? She called you?"

"What?" Kurt asked in a high pitched voice. He looked around nervously. "No, why would you- no, no. Let's think about this big date, shall we? It's only Monday today, so you still have plenty of time before the weekend. I would suggest that you do something that Brittany would like -"

"Duh," Santana clicked her tongue impatiently.

"What were the kinds of things that you did when you dated before? Where did you take her on dates then?"

Santana slumped down on the edge of the bed. "That's the thing," she said, her fingers toying with a piece of loose thread on the duvet, "we've never been on a date before."

"Santana, you dated the girl for almost a year!"

"Yea," she nodded and looked down, "we dated, but that was different. We were best friends back then and we'd been sleeping together for almost two years before we officially started dating and then, when we finally started dating, it was different. We were like this old couple who would go out and do stuff, but it was never like this. Neither of us would ever formally ask the other out or really plan like a _date _date. It was more like one of us would suggest that we'd go somewhere and then we'd go. It was easy and comfortable." She wrapped the piece of thread around her index finger and watched the tip of her finger become a little red.

"Okay," Kurt nodded in understanding. "How about a picnic?"

"Too Jane Austin-ish," she shook her head.

"A movie?"

"God, Kurt, you take someone to the movies when you're fucking fifteen and you have nowhere else to make out with them!" She tugged at the thread to free her finger.

"You could make her a dinner here," he suggested.

"Yea, but I don't want to come across as Scrooge McDuck," Santana said, thinking, "and then I'll have to think of a way to get rid of Rachel. Plus, Brittany said that she hasn't seen a lot of the city, so I don't want to keep her cooped up in the apartment when we could go out somewhere."

"How about dinner somewhere fancy then?" Kurt asked, looking at his watch. "The whole five course meal thing, you know?"

"I could do that," she said and looked down at her notepad again, "but then she might think that I'm doing it, because I want her to put out or something."

"Santana, you're over thinking this," Kurt said, getting up from the bed. "I have to go, but call me later and we'll talk about this some more, okay? Just relax and think about the stuff that Brittany likes. Or something that would be, like, symbolic or meaningful or whatever."

Santana nodded and frowned as she thought. "I'll just let myself out!" she heard Kurt call when she didn't make any effort to get up and walk him to the door.

Santana sat on the bed a little while longer before she walked over to her desk and got her laptop. She settled back onto her bed and opened it. She spent the next hours looking through several websites and searching phrases like 'first date ideas' and 'how to create a night to remember'. Finally, she bit her bottom lip as she looked over the information on the screen in front of her. She'd been staring at the screen for several minutes, contemplating whether this would be a good idea. Not taking her eyes of the screen, she reached over and grabbed her phone from her bedside table. She quickly scrolled down her contact list and pressed the green button. Impatiently she drummed her fingers against her laptop. She had absolutely no idea why she was this nervous.

"Hey," Brittany's voice came through the receiver after the third ring. Santana suddenly wondered what Brittany's ringtone sounded like.

"Hi," she replied, suddenly not sure what else to add.

"Hi," Brittany repeated. There was a short silence. She could hear Brittany's breathing through the phone.

"So I wanted to ask you," Santana began, only remembering too late that it would have been polite to ask how Brittany was doing, "you're still coming this weekend, right?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Brittany said, "I suppose that depends on how our date goes."

"What?" Santana asked confused. Then she realised what Brittany had said and felt her heart speed up a little. "Uhm-"she began. She should have had a witty retort, she thought. Something equally light and flirty, but instead she found herself fidgeting nervously.

"Santana, relax," Brittany said. There was a smile in her voice. "Yes, obviously I will be arriving this weekend. I'm there every weekend, aren't I?"

"Yes, of course. So I wanted to know if maybe it would be possible for you to stay until Sunday night. I mean to stay here and we could go out on Sunday and then maybe catch a flight on Monday morning?"

"I could check," Brittany said, "Just hold on a second." There was a short silence at the other end. "Santana? Can I call you back in a minute?"

"Sure," she nodded even though Brittany couldn't see her.

Santana nervously fidgeted as she waited for Brittany to return her call. She still wasn't unconvinced that this whole thing was a setup. A devious plot so that she would plan a date and get her hopes up and then be stood up or something. She knew that Brittany wouldn't ever be able to devise any evil plots, but she also knew that the universe most likely had more than enough reason to throw a few curveballs her way.

Her phone lit up even before it rang. She answered as soon as the first notes of her ringtone sounded through her room. "Brittany?" she eagerly asked.

"Hello to you too," Brittany replied. "So I quickly checked and I can move my flight from Sunday evening to six thirty on Monday morning."

Santana wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. "Could you do that?" she asked, feeling slightly unsure of herself.

"I already have," Brittany simply said.

"Great," Santana said. She was starting to feel a little better about this date thing. "So we'll do it then? On Sunday?"

"Really? You make this too easy!" She could hear Brittany give a little chuckle. "You know, you really should take a little time to think before you speak sometimes."

"Yes, well," Santana felt a smile spread across her face, "I'm not really known for my ability to think before speaking."

"So I'll see you on the weekend then?" Brittany asked.

"I guess so," Santana said. She wanted to keep talking. To hear Brittany laugh again. To have anything else to say.

"'Kay," Brittany said, "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," Santana held the phone to her ear long after Brittany had ended the call. Then she got up, took her credit card from her purse and smiled as she looked at the screen of her still open laptop.

* * *

_They were lying on a blanket under one of the big oak trees in the Pierces' backyard. Santana liked this house. It had several big trees. Sometimes after school they would lay under one of the trees. Santana would stare at the sky, watching the clouds through the branches and Brittany would make strange whistling sounds. When Santana asked her what she was doing, she'd always say that she was trying to send a message to the birds that lived in the trees. _

_"Do you want to go to Puck's house party on Friday?" Brittany asked. She made two high pitched sounds. _

_"Ugh, I can't." Santana shifted onto her side. She nudged Brittany's right arm a little so that she could rest her head on Brittany's chest. "My aunt is coming for my mom's birthday and she's bringing mi abuela and that bratty little cousin."_

_"The one you tried to sell that time?" Brittany put her hand over her mouth and whistled loudly. _

_"No," Santana shook her head, "that was my other cousin. This one is Miguel; the one with the weirdly shaped ears. But anyway, so I think I'll kinda be stuck at home all weekend. Maybe we could do something next weekend?"_

_"But isn't your mom's birthday only on Tuesday?" Brittany turned her head a little. "And your family goes to bed at like four in the afternoon, so can't we go after you've finished or whatever?"_

_Santana reached up and placed a small kiss in the nape of Brittany's neck. "It's just difficult, Britt. Let's just make it next weekend, okay?"_

_"Yea," Brittany nodded. _

_It took a while before Santana noticed that the whistling had stopped. She titled her head a little to look at Brittany. She gave a faint smile when she noticed Santana looking at her. Santana hated this the most. The way that Brittany would never say anything. She would just smile and tell Santana that it was okay. She'd nod in understanding every time that Santana would have to go home early or couldn't go out. _

_"Four more months, Britt," she said, because she needed to hear it herself. "Four more months and we'll never have to worry about these silly things anymore. We'll finally fucking graduate and get the fuck out of this shithole town together. Right?"_

_"Right." Brittany smiled and kissed Santana's forehead. _

_"It's going to be fucking awesome!" she said, noticing the way the branches above them cut the clouds into little triangle shapes. _

_"Awesome," Brittany repeated. _

_"So," Santana drew out the word and quickly threw her leg over Brittany so that she was straddling her, "you wanna do something next weekend?"_

_"What did you have in mind?" Brittany raised an eyebrow._

_"Oh, I don't know," she pretended to be deep in thought. "Maybe I could take you out to dinner and then come back home for some desert?"_

_"I like that idea," Brittany said, smiling. _

_"So do I," Santana pulled at Brittany's shirt slightly and leaned down to draw her into a kiss. _

_"Santana?" Brittany asked between kisses. _

_"Yea?" She moved her hands a little so that she could stroke Brittany's back underneath her shirt. _

_Brittany pulled away slightly. "Can I ask you something?"_

_"If you kiss me again you can ask me anything in the world," she said and bowed her head down to capture Brittany's mouth again. _

_"Do you sometimes think that we missed out on a lot of things?" _

_Santana sat up a little and looked at Brittany's face curiously. She seemed to be deep in thought. "What do you mean?" Santana eventually asked. _

_"I just mean," Brittany started and propped herself up on her elbows, "that I sometimes wonder what it would have been like, you know? If we didn't do everything all upside down. Like other people; they meet each other and then they like each other and one person will eventually ask the other out on a date. And we never had anything like that. We never had that feeling of slowly getting to know each other."_

_"I'm sorry," Santana whispered. _

_"No, no, honey," Brittany quickly said, "I didn't mean to make you feel bad or anything. I just sometimes think it would have been fun to plan dates and wonder what the other person would like or wouldn't like and all of that."_

_Santana swallowed. "But this is fun too, isn't it?" She leaned down and kissed the tip of Brittany's nose. "Just being together and to not have to worry whether the other person likes you or loves you or anything like that."_

_"Yea," Brittany smiled, "I totally like you. And I definitely love you." She reached up and when she drew her into a kiss and rolled them over, Santana thought that there couldn't possibly be another person on this earth that she could ever like more. _

* * *

It was twenty to five when Santana turned the corner and could see their building down the block. She'd told Brittany that she would meet her at five before leaving to get ready at Kurt's place. Getting ready for a date in the same place as your date just seemed too strange. And while it was true that she very rarely listened to his advice, Kurt usually had great fashion tips. She'd also managed to convince Kurt to tell Rachel that she needed to go to the organic market on Sunday afternoon and pick up ingredients so that she could show him how to make vegan lasagna on Sunday evening. Even though this meant that Santana now owed Kurt dinner for being forced to eat something Rachel made, she figured that it was necessary since Rachel was likely to ask uncomfortable questions if she saw Brittany getting ready.

When she reached the front of their building she quickly looked around before leaning over and picking one of the flowers that Mrs. Carey had planted next to the entrance. Guiltily holding the flower – she had no idea what it was called, but it was white and looked pretty - behind her back she made her way up the stairs. A few doors down from their apartment Santana paused and took out a compact mirror from her purse, briefly rechecking her hair and make-up. She'd already changed her outfit three times during the course of the afternoon, before she finally settled for a short black skirt with thigh high boots, a loose fitting white blouse and a black jacket. She slowly walked the last few steps up to their apartment and stopped in front of the door. She took a deep breath and knocked twice. It felt a little silly knocking on her own door, she thought as she waited.

"Hi there," Brittany said as she opened the door. She looked excited. The kind of excitement that Santana had never seen anybody else exude. It was that kind of excitement that made Brittany a little bouncy.

"Hi," she suddenly felt shy and awkward. This must be what fifteen year old boys feel like when they finally manage to get a date with the girl that they've crushed on forever and then stand around on her porch wondering if they should have worn less cologne, she thought. She tried not to be too obvious, but she was sure that Brittany could see her eyes roaming. "I got this for you," Santana said and held out the flower. "Well, technically I stole it, but it's for you."

"Thank you," Brittany said and took the flower from her. "It's beautiful. I'm just going to put it in water, 'cause otherwise I'm probably going to lose it and then I'll just feel guilty."

"Sure," Santana said, but remained standing in the doorway. She watched Brittany walking away, admiring the way her jeans hung low on her hips.

"You ready?" Brittany asked when she returned a second later. Santana just nodded and allowed Brittany to lead the way down the stairs.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Brittany asked when they stepped outside.

"Nope," Santana shook her head and smiled. "But we have to make a quick stop before we can get to the actual date."

"Sounds serious," Brittany said. She frowned, but there was laughter in her voice.

"It's not," Santana said, "Come on, this way."

They quietly walked down a few blocks. For the first time since Brittany arrived in the city, Santana felt that it was a comfortable silence though. Not the kind of silence that she desperately wanted to fill with talk about the weather or Jessica Simpson's weight loss. Santana was quite sure that she saw Brittany looking at her cleavage a few times as they walked, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other. When they reached the crossing at 98th and 32nd Streets, Brittany nonchalantly took Santana's arm and entwined it with her own.

"It's dangerous to cross roads," she shrugged and Santana smiled.

Eventually she saw the sign a few stores down. "Come on," Santana said excitedly. "It's our pre-date stop."

Brittany stopped in front of the store and looked up at the sign. "_Build-a-Bear_? You're taking me on a date to _Build-a-Bear_?"

"No," Santana shook head seriously and opened the door. "This is just a pre-date stop."

Brittany looked around the store in amazement. "What's a pre-date stop?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of the rows of teddy bears that lined the shelves around the store.

"Well, it's where we stop to get you a gift." Brittany tilted her head and looked at Santana questioningly. "I couldn't get you proper flowers, because you're going home tomorrow and they die on the flight; and I know you don't really like chocolates, so I thought we could come here and we could make you a little gift. Together."

Looking from the rows of bears back to Santana, Brittany smiled broadly. "That's like the most awesome thing I've ever heard," she said and, hesitating only a second, she leaned forward and gave Santana a peck on the cheek. Santana blushed and looked down to her feet. "So how does this work?" Brittany asked, looking bouncy-excited again.

"I think," Santana said, feeling too aware of the spot where Brittany's lips just touched her cheek, "that we need to go over to that Morgan Freeman lookalike over there to pick the type of stuffed animal that you want. Then we take it to those little elves over in the corner to have it stuffed." As soon as the words left her mouth she saw a look of worry wash over Brittany's face, so she quickly backtracked, "I'm kidding, Britt, they're like professional bear stuffers or something." Brittany smiled faintly. "And then you get to dress it in whichever way you like."

"Awesome," Brittany said and pulled Santana in the direction of the Morgan Freeman lookalike. Santana felt a chill travel through her body when Brittany took her by her wrist. She looked over to Brittany and their eyes met for the briefest second. She felt Brittany's grip on her arm tighten a little.

At the counter Brittany picked an ordinary brown teddy bear.

"Are you sure you don't want something else?" Santana asked. "They have monkeys and puppies and stuff?"

"No," Brittany shook her head, "You can't go to a _Build-A-Bear _and build a monkey. That's how anarchy starts."

Brittany took the bear and they walked over to have it stuffed.

"Don't you think it's a little gross?" Brittany asked as they watched the middle aged lady stuff the brown teddy. She was standing slightly behind Santana so that when she spoke it was a kind of whisper into Santana's ear.

"What's gross?" Santana couldn't really care less, but was desperate for Brittany to keep whispering in her ear.

"That's like the inside of a teddy bear. Like its guts and stuff," Brittany said. Santana could feel Brittany's breath on the back of her neck as she spoke. Her own breath hitched when she felt Brittany's hands on her waist. Holding onto Santana's waist to keep her balance, Brittany stood on her toes to have a better view before she spoke again. "I mean, if that was a human being, it would be pretty gruesome."

Santana didn't reply. She had Brittany's hands on her waist, gently touching, and she kept her mouth close to Santana's ear. Santana thought that she felt Brittany's fingers softly stroking her side, but then the lady had finished stuffing the bear and Brittany moved away, taking the bear from the woman. Santana sighed and waited for her breathing to steady.

"Are you sure you don't want to make one?" Brittany asked, holding up the bear.

"No," Santana said, her eyes travelled down to the hint of skin that was visible between Brittany's jeans and shirt. "That would be like asking someone out and then buying yourself flowers."

"No, it won't," Brittany said and stepped closer to Santana again. "But if you want we could share custody?"

Santana smiled and nodded. "Not as ideal as having a nuclear family, but I guess shared custody could work," she said and then, because she was worried that Brittany might freak out and think she wanted them to get married, she walked over to where different clothing items were displayed.

An hour later they walked out of the shop with the bear neatly wrapped in a large box. In her hand Brittany held its official birth certificate, complete with the date and the bear's given name: Bear. Santana made a half-hearted attempt to convince Brittany that they ought to give the bear a real name, but Brittany insisted that, since they had already dressed a boy bear in a pink tutu and he would have to spend the rest of his life in the city, he needed a name that would remind him of his heritage and his masculinity. So they named the bear Bear and decided that he would spend weekdays with Brittany and visit Santana on weekends.

"Do you want something to eat?" Santana asked when they passed a hotdog stand. "I know it's pretty lousy dating etiquette, but I'm not sure if we'll have time to eat later."

"Where are we going?" Brittany asked. Santana knew that she was using her flirty voice. She wasn't sure if it was simply to coax Santana into telling her where they were going or if it was because she was genuinely being flirtatious.

"You'll see," Santana shrugged.

She walked over to the cart and bought two hotdogs and two sodas. As she waited she looked over to Brittany who was standing a few feet away. She had taken Bear from the bag and was admiring his tutu. As if she could sense Santana's eyes on her, Brittany looked over. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and Santana wondered what Brittany was thinking. She wondered if Brittany was feeling as nervous as she was. If she had any doubts. She wished that she could be as carefree as Brittany always seemed.

They ate their hotdogs as Santana guided them towards the subway.

"No limo?" Brittany asked when Santana pointed her to the train.

"Maybe next time," Santana said. _Next time. Next time. Next time, _she thought as the realization dawned on her that she had no idea how this worked. She didn't know if she'd have to wait for Brittany to ask her out before they could do hoped that she would.

They sat opposite each other on the train. Due to the numerous uncomfortable silences that seemed to plague their conversations these days, Santana had spent the last four days mentally listing possible conversation starters. Although the silence that was creeping up on them now was more of a nervous than an uncomfortable silence, Santana was still glad that she remembered she could ask Brittany about her job, her new kitten, her thoughts on the upcoming election and tell her about the annoying kid who lives down stairs and constantly proposes.

As they spoke Santana watched the little freckle on the top of Brittany's lip. She noticed the way that Brittany's hands moved animatedly as she spoke. Her eyes glanced over the small strands of hair that struck out from her bun. For a long time Santana thought that she'd managed to successfully block out every single memory of Brittany that she had. That her memories of Brittany were restricted to those silent hours, when she'd wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly remember something that she once said or did. But now, as she sat watching Brittany opposite her – her one leg propped up on the seat – she thought that maybe she'd never forgotten anything. That it was all there – like when she'd put away a book at the very back a shelf and then found it again after she'd nearly forgotten that she ever owned it at all- and she was slowly rediscovering the magic that was Brittany.

She got up a minute or so before they reached their stop. Brittany looked at her curiously and then got up as well.

"I've never been to Queens," Brittany said when they got off the train. She looked around as though there might be a sign that would tell her where they were going. They slowly made their way down a few blocks. Every second block a so Santana would stop and look for a street name before they'd continue.

"Do you know where we're going?" Brittany asked suspiciously after Santana stopped to look around for the third time.

"Yes and no," Santana said, looking at the time of her phone. It was twenty five past seven which meant that they still had a good half an hour to get there. "I know where we're going, but I haven't ever been there myself."

"I wouldn't mind if we got lost and just walked around all night," Brittany said, "I'm just saying."

"I think," Santana said, looking at a building a couple of yards down, "that that's the place."

"Over there?" Brittany asked and pointed towards the building.

"Yea," Santana replied and they began walking in the direction of the building. Santana suddenly felt very conscious of her hands. She had the overwhelming urge to take Brittany's hand, but her hands felt as if tied to her own sides. What if she tried to hold Brittany's hand and she pulled away? She shook her head at her own thought. Obviously Brittany wouldn't pull away, but what if Santana had a heart attack. Considering the way her heart had been beating erratically all evening she couldn't exclude the possibility that it would soon just stop beating all together.

When they reached the front of the building Santana saw the posters and knew that they were at the right place. It had a picture of two women with guitars who were sitting on stools on a stage. Underneath the picture the time, date, and venue were printed in black. Santana looked around. There were a few other people standing around. A group of about five women stood on the steps, chatting and laughing and an elderly couple sat on a bench nearby. A few other people were scattered in front of the building.

"We're a little early," Santana said and turned her head to Brittany. She was feeling a little more nervous now, all of a sudden not so sure that a picnic wouldn't have been a better idea.

Brittany stepped closer and studied the poster. "Indigo Girls?" she asked after a while.

"Uh, yea," Santana fidgeted with her purse nervously, "I figured that, since you like music and I like music, and they play music ..." she said a little out of breath. "Have you heard them? They sound like what Melissa Etheridge would have sounded like if she was less angry all the time."

Santana looked up at Brittany who was still staring at the poster. She wondered if Brittany would still remember. She didn't even have any idea if Brittany knew who the Indigo Girls were or if she'd ever heard any of their music. Maybe Brittany would think that this was the first time she'd ever heard of them. Then Brittany looked away from the poster and, as her eyes trailed over Santana's face, she knew that Brittany remembered.

"You got the Indigo Girls to play for our date?" Brittany asked a little incredulously.

"Not exactly no," Santana gave a little chuckle, "I just saw that they were playing here tonight and I thought it might be nice." Brittany said nothing, but smiled so Santana continued, "You wanna go inside?"

They walked into the auditorium and took their seats. It wasn't a big or flashy auditorium. A few stage hands were still busy adjusting microphones on the stage. The curtains looked a little worn down.

"You look really beautiful tonight," Brittany whispered. Santana felt a smile spread across her face. She looked at Brittany who smiled back and said, "I glad you asked me out. If you'd said yes when I first asked you we probably would have ended going to the Pizza Hut or somewhere."

"Kurt suggested that we have a picnic," Santana whispered as two men shifted pass them to find their seats.

"Picnics are very 18th century," Brittany said. Santana didn't reply, but stared at the small lock of blonde hair that had come loose from Brittany's bun and was now lining her forehead.

When the lights dimmed and sound of applause sounded through the auditorium, Brittany shifted a little forward in her seat. Santana didn't really pay attention to the two women who appeared on the stage. As they played she kept glancing over to Brittany who seemed completely drawn into the performance. Santana watched her and remembered the way that Brittany always used enthusiastically clap and hoot when they'd go to performances together. She suddenly felt extremely aware of Brittany's body next to her own. It reminded her of the feeling she used to have when they'd go to the movies in their sophomore year. That nervous feeling of anticipation and looking over to Brittany's mouth and wondering if she'd get to kiss her tonight. And contemplating whether or not she should hold her hand. Perhaps the feeling she had now was layered with a little less internalized homophobia, but apart from that she pretty much felt like a teenager again.

Despite the fact that she'd never heard a single song by the Indigo Girls in her life – apart from the two performances that she watched on YouTube on Monday night – Santana decided that this was fast becoming her favorite concert ever. Occasionally Brittany looked over at her and smiled broadly, their arms touching as they rested on the communal arm rest and suddenly Santana couldn't remember why she ever considered not asking Brittany out again.

"If I ever become a famous lesbian country singer, I'm totally getting a mullet," Brittany said as they walked down the steps of the auditorium at the end of the show.

"Yeah?" Santana laughed.

"Totally," Brittany nodded, "You'd be welcome to join my band, you know."

"I don't know if I could pull off a mullet though," Santana said, feigning concern. She watched the cars go by as they walked back to the station.

"No, you wouldn't have a mullet," Brittany said and shifted the bag with Bear the bear to her other hand. "That would only take the attention away from me. But you could be the hot guitar playing chick if you want?"

"I could do that," Santana said. Her hands felt a little sweaty as she watched the way Brittany's nose scrunched in thought.

"And then you could do that thing where you light a cigarette at the beginning of each show and then stick it into the strings at the neck of the guitar when we start playing," Brittany gave an extra step so that she was walking a little closer to Santana.

"I thought you said that I shouldn't smoke?" Santana teased. She liked this game.

"You shouldn't," Brittany said seriously, "but technically speaking you wouldn't be smoking. You'd only light the cigarette and then leave it." She paused for a second. "And it looks super hot when you smoke, so we'd make millions and retire at forty."

They walked in silence until they reached the subway, Santana's thoughts continuously drifting towards the idea of what it would be like to be Brittany's partner in a lesbian country group. Apart from the mullet, it seemed like a pretty good idea.

"You know," Brittany said as they got off the subway and started the seven block walk home, "I was pretty relieved when I saw that we were going to that show."

"Yea?"

"Yea," Brittany repeated, "I got a little scared when you asked to move the date to tonight. The same thing happened to one of my friends. Someone asked her on a date on a Sunday evening and she got all dressed up and everything and then the girl took her to a LGBT recovery church group thing. It's like Alcoholics Anonymous, but for people who used to be gay."

"Sounds crazy," Santana said, because she didn't really know what else to say.

"I wouldn't want to do that with you," Brittany said, looking deadly serious. "I think that you'd make a terrible recovering lesbian."

Santana laughed from her stomach. "Why's that?" she asked curiously.

"Well ... you know," Brittany said and pouted her mouth, "that would mean that you'd have to stop staring at my cleavage all the time and I think you'd have trouble doing that."

"That's a blatant lie," Santana said, but looked away guiltily.

"Whatever you say," Brittany laughed. "I'm not complaining, I'm just saying."

They were three blocks away from their apartment building when Santana finally, without looking, reached over and took Brittany's hand in her own. Brittany didn't say anything, but gripped Santana's hand tightly. It wasn't the safe, comfortable kind of hand hold that they used to have. The kind where their hands knew where to go and fitted perfectly together. Santana's hand now felt clumsy and she looked around nervously as they continued walking. Nonetheless, she felt a little warmer when she felt Brittany's hand in her own, and didn't let go until they had reached the front door to Santana and Rachel's apartment.

Brittany turned the key and opened the door, but Santana remained standing outside. Brittany turned around and tilted her head a little.

"Aren't you coming inside?" Brittany asked.

"I wouldn't want to be presumptuous," Santana smiled.

"Really?" Brittany asked with a sly grin, "And what happened to all that talk about me coming this weekend."

"What can I say?" Santana asked with a shrug. She wondered if Brittany realized how badly she wanted to go inside. "You obviously showed me the error of my ways."

"Damn," Brittany said, but their eyes met and Santana saw that Brittany too knew why she couldn't follow her inside. That they weren't going to do it like that again. This time would be different. They both knew that Santana would be back in a few minutes. Fifteen, maybe twenty. But for now, she'd drop Brittany off; wish her a good night and leave. Maybe she'd wander around the block. Most likely she'd just sit on her step on the fire escape, thinking. "Well, thank you. For everything, I had a wonderful time," Brittany went on.

"You did?" Santana asked and immediately felt silly.

"Best first date ever," Brittany said softly.

Santana smiled and looked down. "We should do it again sometime," she said without looking up.

Brittany nodded. "Goodnight, Santana," she said and stepped a little closer. Her lips were soft and warm when they met Santana's. She kept their lips locked for a few seconds, neither of them moving, before pulling away again.

"I like you," Brittany said and kept Santana's gaze for a moment before she turned around and closed the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: I'd like to apologize to everybody who was unfortunate enough to read Chapter 9 before I realized that FF . net had cut out some words and phrases. It's fixed now and hopefully won't happen again. While I'm at it, I'd also like to thank every person who's taken time to write a review, send PMs and leave messages on my Tumblr. I appreciate it! Lastly, a huge thank you to TinyFi311, Ryan47 and NoobNoMo for beta reading, valuable suggestions and help in sorting out technical glitches.

**Chapter 10**

Her first instinct was to turn around and pull a pillow over her head. To reach over and press the snooze button and then, when her alarm went off again, throw her phone across the room in an attempt to silence it. She wanted to mumble a few obscene phrases in Spanish and then drift back to sleep until Rachel would eventually come banging on her door, asking whether she planned to get up before noon. But then she remembered why she had set her alarm for such a ridiculous time in the first place and so she reached over to grab her phone and silenced it. She groaned as she looked at the time on the screen. It was four o'clock. It was four o'clock on a fucking Monday morning. Sitting up in her bed Santana tried to remember when last she had to get up at four in the morning. The answer, she suspected, was never. Closing her eyes for a second she seriously contemplated going back to sleep. Just for fifteen minutes. But then she'd be too late. She'd carefully done the math the previous night before she went to sleep. Brittany's flight was at 6:45 a.m. That meant that she had to be at the airport at 5:15 a.m. That meant that she had to leave the apartment at 4:30 a.m. And that meant that Santana had to get up at 4 a.m.

She didn't bother to switch on the lights as she got up, pulled a sweater over her tank top, grabbed her glasses from her bedside table and walked to the kitchen sleepily. Stepping out of her room she could hear the shower running; a small ray of light visible through the bathroom door. She stopped for a second and listened–when she brought her head a little closer to the door she could hear Brittany softy humming.

Feeling slightly more awake she switched on the coffeemaker and reached up to take two cups from the kitchen cabinet. She yawned and watched the coffee drip into the pot, thinking that it might have been better if she had just stayed up all night. She wondered if Brittany had also rolled around in the dark the previous night, knowing full well that she'd have to get up in a few very short hours. She wondered if Brittany had also been awake, somehow unable to sleep as memories of a subway ride and unfamiliar music, intertwined hands and a brown teddy bear, nervous excitement and a shy goodnight kiss replayed over and over in her mind.

"You're awake?" Brittany interrupted her thoughts as she stepped into the kitchen, still holding a towel. Santana thought that it was absurd that someone could get up at four and still look this good.

She combed her fingers through her hair. "I think 'awake' might be an overstatement," her voice was a little croaky. "Coffee?"

Brittany nodded and waited until Santana had finished pouring the coffee before she spoke. "You didn't have to get up," she said, taking the cup from Santana. "I know how you get when you have to get up before 9 a.m.; now you're probably going to be mean to Rachel until at least Thursday." She took a sip of coffee. "She deserves it though. Did I tell you that she listed dancing as one of her special skills on her resume and put me down as a reference? I had like twelve people phoning me last week, asking if it's true that she'd been the lead in a 2001 production of _Swan Lake_."

"I'll be sure to be extra mean then," Santana said and flashed Brittany a smile. "I thought that it would be kinda rude to make you change your flight time and then keep you up until midnight without at least offering you a cup of coffee in the morning."

"I could've just picked up a coffee at the airport," Brittany shrugged.

"No, too much airport coffee eventually leads to all kinds of diseases," Santana shook her head seriously. "It's because it's all generic shit from a lab in somewhere in Guatemala and made without any love."

Brittany slowly took another sip and raised an eyebrow.

"I just mean," Santana shifted around awkwardly when she thought about all the different ways that Brittany might interpret her words, "that it would be really awful of me to let you get up in the middle of the night and not offer you any breakfast."

"This is awesome, Santana," Brittany said and Santana wasn't sure if she was referring to the coffee or Santana's getting up to make the coffee.

"Yeah," Santana said and then, before she had any time to over-think it, she added, "I got you a muffin too." She looked down. "It's not like homemade or anything, but it's just so, you know, so you don't faint or anything." She pointed towards a small brown bag on the kitchen table.  
"Thank you," Brittany said and for a moment it looked like she wanted to say something else, but she simply took another sip of coffee and smiled. "I'm just gonna go throw the last of my things in my bag," she said, grabbing the brown bag and giving Santana another smile as she put her empty cup on the table.

Sipping her own coffee, Santana wondered if this is what their lives could have been like. If, in a different version of their lives, she would have gotten up early every morning in _their_ apartment and happily made coffee while she listened to Brittany sing in the shower. In this version of their life she would take special care as she packed Brittany's lunch every morning and sometimes leave her cheesy notes.

"I have to go now," Brittany whispered from the doorway, breaking Santana's train of thought.

Santana nodded and put her cup down, the big duffle bag in Brittany's hand reminding her that they don't live in a special version of their lives. They live a life where Brittany has another home almost five hundred miles away– one that Santana had never seen or been to. In their actual life Santana would continue to see Brittany for a few hours every weekend for six months, before Brittany would permanently go back to her own life and not have any excuse to be around anymore.

Santana watched Brittany pick up the rest of her bags on the couch and followed her to the door. "So ..." Santana started, not sure of what to do next.

"Thank you. For everything," Brittany said and dropped her duffle bag to the ground. "I had the best time."

Santana smiled bashfully. "I had a good time too," she said, nodding. "I'm sorry that you have to leave so early; you're probably going to be exhausted by the time you get to work."

"Totally worth it," Brittany said, "I can sleep on the plane and I'll take a nap during lunch."

She wasn't sure what to do next. Since Brittany started living with them, they'd never done more than give an awkward wave whenever she arrived or left. She could hug Brittany, but that felt too much like the way she would greet an old friend. _Just _an old friend. She supposed that she could kiss her, but she didn't want to seem presumptuous – like they were now the type of people who kissed every time they saw each other.

So Santana leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Brittany's cheek; a little closer to her mouth than her cheek, lingering a little. She pulled away reluctantly and reached down to pick up Brittany's bag.

"I'll see you on Friday," Brittany said, taking the bag from her. "I'll miss you," she quickly added before turning around and disappearing down the hallway.

Santana stood by the door for another second. Brittany will miss her. She'd get up at four every morning, she decided, if it meant that she could hear Brittany tell her she'd miss her over and over again.

She softly hummed to herself as she walked back to the kitchen. Her coffee had gone a little cold, but she finished it nonetheless, wondering if she should try to go back to sleep. Going back to sleep now would probably only make her grumpy later. Also, Brittany had kissed her, said that she had a great time and that she likes her and she'll miss her, so Santana honestly didn't know if she'd be able to sleep at all ever again.

Looking around the kitchen she decided that she might as well get some breakfast. And since Rachel would be up soon and Santana was in a particularly good mood, she figured that she might as well make Rachel breakfast, too – although 'making Rachel breakfast' simply meant throwing some instant oats into a bowl and sticking it into the microwave, because Rachel refused to eat anything but oats before eleven in the morning.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked cautiously when she walked into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"I'm making us breakfast," Santana said as though it was obvious that she'd be in the kitchen at six on a Monday morning, making Rachel breakfast.

"Why?" Rachel asked suspiciously.

"Because it's the most important meal of the day," Santana shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm wonderful," Santana turned around and smiled at Rachel. "Juice? Tea?"

"Some tea would be nice, thank you, Santana," Rachel nodded eagerly and sat down at the table. She stared at Santana as Santana switched on the kettle.

"What?" Santana asked when she noticed Rachel's staring.

"Aren't you going to tell me that tea is only for very old women and very gay men?"

"Nope," Santana shook her head. She held up two containers and asked, "Green or Earl Grey?"

"Green, please," Rachel said, "Are you sure you're not feeling sick?"

Santana sighed. If it had not been for the fact that Brittany liked her and was going to miss her, she would have thrown Rachel out of the kitchen about ten minutes ago. But not even Rachel would manage to spoil her mood this morning. "I never get sick. I suspect it's because of my fluid ethnicity and the fact that I once drank a whole bottle of surgical alcohol. Can I get you some fruit to go with your oats?"

"Please," Rachel said and Santana grabbed her an apple.

"It's such a great day," Santana sat down at the kitchen table. "Isn't it the most beautiful day?"

* * *

_It was strangely one of the reasons that she wanted to get out of this godforsaken town so badly. _The Lima Bean. _She never understood why they couldn't have a regular coffee place. Like a Starbucks or something. A place that wasn't right in the middle of town, where everybody could see you all the time. She hated the stupid greenish bean in the middle of their logo and the small round tables and the fact that _everyone_ was _always_ there._

_She looked over to the counter where Brittany was chatting to Mike while she was waiting for their order. Santana sighed and took out a stack of brochures and acceptance letters from her bag. She paged through them, spreading out various brochures on the table in front of her. _

_"Why are there so many?" Brittany asked when she put their drinks down on the table. _

_"Because I was paranoid that I'd be stuck in Lima forever, so I applied at a million different colleges," Santana said as Brittany sat down. "And if you apply at a million places, you're gonna get into at least half a million of them."_

_Brittany picked up one of the brochures and studied the front page. _

_"I still just don't understand why you didn't apply," Santana said, taking a sip of her drink. Her phone lit up on the table in front of her. She declined the call when she saw her mother's caller ID. _

_"I'm just not sure if college is something that I want to do," Brittany said, chewing her lip. "I'm not sure if it's something that I'll even be able to do."_

_Santana frowned. "You know that's not true."_

_"It's just- I'm not like you," Brittany shifted around in her chair uncomfortably. "I don't have everything figured out and I'm not smart enough to just get into any program I want."_

_"Don't do that." Santana reached out to take her hand. _

_"What?" Brittany asked without looking up. _

_"Don't say you're not smart enough." She couldn't even remember how many times she'd said these exact words to Brittany. "You are, Britt. I don't know why you refuse to see that."_

_"You don't understand. I'm not like you." Brittany ran her finger along the edges of the stupid Lima Bean logo on the napkin on the table in front of her. "My family isn't like yours. Ever since I can remember your parents have been discussing where you'd go to college and what you might do. It's never been an issue in your family. You were always going to go to college and get some fancy degree and become super successful." She looked up and gave Santana a sad, wry smile. "My parents spend half their time discussing how tertiary education upholds patriarchy. You dad is a doctor, Santana. My dad can't even keep a half-ass business running in a small town like Lima. You have like a million trust funds and college funds and god knows what else; my parents used half of my college money to buy canned food before the 2004 elections. College has never been a sure thing for me. It's never been something that we discuss over dinner. If my dad gets his way, I'll move to Mexico after graduation to become a tequila making apprentice or something."_

_"I know that, it's just that-" Santana tried to think of something that she hadn't said yet. Something new that might make Brittany feel better. _

_"No, just listen. This is all very new to me. Picking colleges and all these different courses and subjects and everything. So just give me some time, okay? I'll come with you, wherever you want to go, and I'll just get a job for a little while. I'll waitress or something for a few months while I check things out and then I can apply. You said that I could start in the second semester at most schools, right?"_

_"Yeah." Santana nodded and squeezed Brittany's hand reassuringly. "You're still going to have to apply soon though, even if you only want to start in the second semester. I mean, it's like April already and you need to apply way ahead of time."_

_"It will be fine," Brittany insisted and Santana so badly wanted to believe her. _

_"Okay, so I got some brochures from all the places I got accepted at," Santana said, pointing to the brochures that were stacked on the table. "I thought that you could look through them and look at the programs they offer and then we can decide where we want to go."_

_"I still don't know why it matters what I think," Brittany scrunched her nose. _

_"It matters because you'll be living there, too, and I want you to have a say in where you live. And if you're gonna apply there eventually, we need to think about somewhere that offers something you want to do."_

_"What about New York?" Brittany asked and pointed to an NYU brochure. _

_"God, no!" Santana quickly replied, shaking her head. "You just know that Rachel Berry will hunt us down and once she does she'll show up on our doorstep on only the most inconvenient of times, randomly bursting into song when we open the door. And then Kurt will jump out from behind her, wearing an orange feather boa and holding a plate full of weird pastries with names like _bichon au citron_ and _croquembouche_."_

_"It sounds delicious." _

_"See, we're not even there yet and already you want to eat his macaroon," Santana said seriously. _

_"Okay, so we won't live anywhere near Kurt and Rachel." _

_"How about California? Or Washington?"_

_"Washington?" Brittany asked apprehensively. "That's really far away."_

_"That's the idea, Britt." Santana sighed as she declined another call from her mother. "The farther we can get the fuck away from this shithole, the better. Look, just promise me that you'll go through the brochures and maybe check out some of the places on the internet. I really can't put off telling my parents where I want to go much longer. I've been telling them that I'm still busy finding out more about the academic merits of each college and shit like that before I make a final decision, but I'll really have to make a decision soon."_

_"Can't you just tell them that I'm also waiting to get more information on some of the programs? About where I might want to go and stuff?"_

_Santana wished to God that, if her mouth couldn't do it, her eyes could at least make up some excuse. But her eyes just widened a little and she felt her mouth go dry. She swallowed and tried to think of something to say. She tried to think of anything to say other than the fact that she hadn't told her parents that Brittany would be moving with her. That _they_ would be moving away for college. Together. She tried to imagine how she would explain to Brittany that her parents had no idea how intimately their future plans were interwoven; how many afternoons they had been laying on the grass in the Pierces' backyard, talking about how they would furnish the small apartment they planned on getting and speculating about whether they might get a pet. Santana looked up and when she saw the expression on Brittany's face she could see that Brittany knew._

_"It's cool," Brittany said and looked away as she rounded up the brochures and put it in her bag, "I'll go through them and let you know." _

* * *

Santana reached over absentmindedly when her phone rang on Wednesday evening.

"Hello," she answered, not looking up from the book in front of her.

"Hey," she heard Brittany say.

"Hi," Santana said a little flustered. "Hey, hi."

"So," Brittany said after a second, "I Googled it and they said that, apart from not pulling her stockings down with your toes under the table, it's also super polite to phone three days after you take a woman on a date."

"Wow, Britt, so chivalrous." She drew a little cat on top of the cover of one of the books in front of her, and around the cat, she drew a little heart.

"Yeah, they also said some stuff about who should pay for what and what happens after the third date, on top of or against the surface of your choice, but I think that'll just make you nervous, so I'll just keep it to myself," Brittany said. If Santana hadn't known her forever, she might not have understood that Brittany was joking.

"How's your week been?" Santana asked, deciding that it might be best to steer the conversation away from talking about what might happen before or after a few more dates.

"I've been really busy. Monday was crazy and then I had to help this kid with her modern jazz routine after work." She paused for a second. "I told her mom that they might rather want to consider chess lessons or something." Santana laughed into the phone. "How's your week been?"

"Good, I guess," Santana said. She obviously wasn't going to tell Brittany that it's been an awesome week because she'd constantly been thinking of her, so she quickly thought about everything else that happened since Monday. "Kinda uneventful," she continued, "although I threw a whiteboard marker at some kid yesterday."

"Have you been mean to Rachel?"

"I started out being really nice," Santana sighed, "but then Kurt showed her this article that talks about how it apparently does wonders for your skin if you sync your showers with some moon cycle or other and now she's driving me crazy, taking showers at ungodly times."

"You should just turn the water off," Brittany suggested.  
"I should," Santana shifted back on the bed so that her back could rest against the wall, "but I've been feeling kinda guilty about lying to Rachel on Sunday. It makes me feel like a closeted teenager and I hate it."

"You could just tell her if it bothers you that much," Brittany suggested.

"I will tell her, it's just difficult," Santana searched for the rights words for a moment. She really didn't want Brittany to think that she didn't want to tell Rachel because she wasn't serious about her or because she was sure that it wouldn't work out. "I just feel like telling her would put so much pressure on us, you know? You know how Rachel gets, she'll probably want to have some kind of celebratory masked ball or take out an ad in the local newspaper again or something."

"Maybe we should get drunk and tell her, and then we won't care what she does," Brittany said.

"That's actually not a bad idea," Santana mused. "I know that I spend at least two hours of every day fantasizing about shutting her up with some duct tape, but she's kinda my friend and I hate hiding stuff from my friends."

"We'll figure it out eventually," Brittany said. A short silence hung between them before Brittany spoke. "Sing something."

"What?"

"Sing something," Brittany repeated.

"Right now?" Santana asked with a frown.

"Why not?"

Santana couldn't really think of a good reason why she couldn't sing something. "Hold on," she said, jumping up from her bed. She grabbed her guitar from its stand before she sat back down on the bed. She quickly set her phone to loudspeaker and put it down on her knee. "Britt, are you still there?" she asked, making sure that Brittany would be able to hear.

"I'm here," Brittany's voice came through the phone.

Santana paused for a second, before she started to play.

_I took a trip on a train _

_And I thought about you_

_I passed a shadowy lane_

_And I thought about you_

She wasn't sure why she chose that particular song. Perhaps the distance between them made her feel a little daring. Maybe it was just because she really had been thinking about Brittany.

_Two or three cars parked under the stars_

_A winding stream_

_Moon shining down on some little town _

_And with each beam, the same old dream_

_And every stop that we made, oh, I thought about you_

Santana wondered for a second if Brittany really expected her to sing an entire song over the phone, but then figured that she might as well keep going.

_But when I pulled down the shade then I really got blue_

_I peeked through the crack, looked at the track_

_The one going back to you _

_And what did I do? I thought about you_

There was a short silence after the last few notes died away as Santana waited for Brittany to say something.

"Brittany?" she asked, bringing the phone back up to her ear and feeling a little unsure of herself.

"I thought of you, too," Brittany said softly.

* * *

_If she had known that it would be their last time, it would have been different. She wasn't sure how, but it would have been different. If it had to be like that – if they had to have a last time – she would have made sure that it wasn't in a public restroom. Had she known that it would be their last time, she would have been extra tentative; taking time to memorize every inch of Brittany's body; pausing to take it all in. She would have looked into Brittany's eyes more, for longer and realized one last time how absolutely breathtakingly beautiful she was. If she had known, she might have cried when she leaned her head on Brittany's shoulder, breathing heavily, hearing Brittany whisper a quiet "_you're my love"_ into her ear._

_But she didn't know. She didn't know that it would be their last time, so she didn't think much of it when Brittany shoved her up against the door of a bathroom stall at Lima's only night club. They were both a little tipsy, which made their kisses hungrier and less coordinated than usual. Brittany's mouth was on her mouth; her neck; her chest. Then her dress was around her waist and Brittany's hands were trailing up the insides of her thighs. She felt Brittany inside of her and bit down on her shoulder. Brittany brought her free hand up and tilted Santana's chin so that their eyes met for a brief second before Santana threw her head back against the door. Brittany's hand moved in a fast, steady rhythm and Santana momentarily wondered if it was strange that she kept glancing to her bag on the floor where, on top of fake ID's and the college applications that Brittany still hadn't completed, her phone was repeatedly vibrating._

_She wondered if Brittany also knew that it wasn't the wisest thing for them to do. Maybe Brittany would only realize much later, as Santana did, that they ought to have stopped and talked. Maybe Brittany did know, but it was vague and hazy and somewhere at the very back of her mind as it was in Santana's. It was at the very, very back of her mind and when she felt Brittany's hand against one of her breasts, her other hand pushing a little harder, Santana bit her bottom lip and carelessly let all her worries slip away. _

_If she had known that it would be their last time, she wouldn't have panted a barely audible "_I love you, I fucking love you"_, among a string of unrecognizable words and phrases and swear words as she came. If she had known that it would be their last time she would have looked up into Brittany's eyes, she would have taken her hands, linked their fingers together and kissed her - making sure that she was _really _listening - before she would have told her that she loved her more than anything else in this world._

* * *

Despite all of the positive feelings that she had towards her roommate on Monday morning, Santana felt herself steadily grow more and more irritated with Rachel as the week went by. When she woke up on Thursday to find a laminated shower schedule stuck to the bathroom door she couldn't think of a single reason that would ever make her want to make Rachel breakfast ever again. On Friday Rachel accused her of stealing her vegan cheese, after which she spent the rest of the morning and afternoon loudly practicing a single song from some ancient musical. Consequently, Santana wasn't particularly happy when she saw Rachel standing in front of her on Friday evening.

"I am on my way to Kurt's, but I just wanted to remind you that we need to talk about Christmas soon," Rachel said and Santana looked up from her magazine.

"Why are you going to Kurt's?" she asked in an annoyed tone. "And why wasn't I invited?"

"It's _Hummel Home Theatre _night," Rachel said as she walked to the door. "From which you have been banned after your last little outburst, remember? Just check the calendar and make sure that you're here on Sunday afternoon so that we can draw Secret Santas."

"Wait, hold up," Santana got up and followed Rachel to the door. "Christmas is almost two months away. Why, in the name of everything that is jingly, would we have to sort out this Secret Santa crap now?"

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but the door opened and Brittany stood there, a little out of breath.

"Hi," she said softly and Santana thought that she'd never been more excited to see someone.

"Hello, Brittany," Rachel said, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation that Brittany and Santana were having. "It's lovely to catch you before I leave. I was just telling Santana that we need to pick our Secret Santas well in advance - you are of course welcome to join us in this little tradition - as some of us might want to go through some trouble to find something particularly rare or valuable. A signed copy of an original _Funny Girl _script, for example."

"Last year Kurt was my Secret Santa and he got me a voucher for three sessions at a therapist whose only credentials were two black and white certificates from an online college that's supposedly based in a village near Harare. The year before that, you were my Secret Santa and all I got was an ugly ass black umbrella!" Santana said, her heart jumping when she saw Brittany chuckle.

"I'll have you know that that umbrella was an exact replica of the one that Julie Andrews used during her Oscar winning performance in the seminal classic 1964 musical, _Mary Poppins,_" Rachel defended.

"Whatever. And why are you and Kurt even a part of this? You're Jewish and he's an atheist, doesn't that make it like illegal for you guys to get Christmas gifts?"

"It's all part of a post-democratic-neo-liberal capitalist consumer plot," Brittany shrugged. Rachel tilted her head for a second, seemingly contemplating whether she should respond, before she turned her attention back to Santana.

"Well, Santana, I'm sorry that I try to give back to my fans and friends at least once a year."

"Fans?" Brittany whispered to Santana over Rachel's shoulder.

Either Rachel didn't hear Brittany's question or she chose not to respond, because she didn't even blink an eye before she continued, "I apologize for wanting to capture something of the spirit of hope and giving that we so rarely experience in our lives in these trying times we live in. I'm sorry that I, unlike so many others, like to think that we ought to be less narcissistic – even if only for one day a year – and focus our attention on those around us, friends and family alike."

"In that case I have to applaud your effort, because you definitely have the 'not being narcissistic for only one day of the year' part down. Kill it every year!" Santana said. She really needed Rachel to leave immediately. She needed Rachel to leave so that she could say hello to Brittany and ask her how her day was and suggest that they get something to eat.

"You know what, Santana? You're going to grow old alone and when you do, I'm not going to be on your doorstep on Christmas morning with a beautifully wrapped gift and a homemade cup of eggnog. Because I'll be too busy going out of my way to be an extraordinary Secret Santa to those friends who chose not to belittle my initiatives. And you'll be there sitting in your rocking chair, alone!"

_No, you won't,_ Brittany mouthed and winked. Feeling brave, Santana decided that she'd wait for Brittany to break eye contact first.

"Childish remarks aside," Santana heard Rachel say as she wondered how exactly she'd describe the shape of Brittany's eyes, "I'll be off now. Brittany, you are more than welcome to join us tonight at _Hummel Home Theatre_. I'm sure that Kurt and the others would be overjoyed to see you."

"I'm fine," Brittany said and Santana thought she saw her eyes briefly travel down to her lips.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Rachel asked. "You wouldn't be imposing."

"Yes, I'll be just fine." A smile ghosted over Brittany's lips.

"We'll be re-enacting-" Rachel started as she pulled on her coat.

"No thanks," Brittany said forcefully, although her eyes remained soft. "I have rights, Rachel!"

"Goodbye, Rachel," Santana said, still not taking her eyes off Brittany. She noticed how Brittany's chest notably rose with each breath.

"Enjoy your empty, artless evening," Rachel said before she walked out.

After a second or two, Santana heard the door close. She stood rooted to the spot, silently watching Brittany. A moment passed. Brittany continued to smile, her head slightly tilted to the side. She dropped the bag that was still over her shoulder onto the ground and a thud echoed through the room. Santana felt her heart speed up a little when she saw Brittany's expression change. She quietly studied Brittany's face. It was an expression that she knew; one that she used to love. Santana gave a hesitant step towards Brittany. Another moment passed before Brittany reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled her closer. When they kissed it was less hesitant than their first in the kitchen a few weeks ago. It was less gentle than their kiss the previous Sunday night.

Santana reached for the front of Brittany's sweater and gently pulled. Not breaking their kiss, she took a few steps backwards, pulling Brittany along with her. Brittany moaned into her mouth and Santana thought that she might die. They bumped into something on their way to Santana's room, the coffee table maybe. Then her closed bedroom door was behind them and Santana turned them around so that Brittany's back was against the bedroom door. She pushed against Brittany and let her left hand snake around her waist, her other hand blindly reaching for the door handle. It was hazy and fast and slow and so incredibly clear and dreamlike and vaguely familiar. They were in her room. It was dark, except for a little light streaming in from the street through the half-open blinds. Brittany was tugging at her shirt. It landed somewhere on the floor. Brittany took off her sweater. Or maybe Santana did; she didn't know. She noticed Brittany's turquoise bra as her hands roamed over toned abs. They were on her bed. She felt Brittany's body on top of her, straddling her. She leaned up to kiss the side of Brittany's ribcage, the small indent at the top of her tummy. Brittany's hands were tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. Somebody moaned again.

Then she leaned back onto a pillow and looked at Brittany. It had been too long since she'd looked at her. Really looked. She let her eyes slowly travel over Brittany's body, soaking up every little detail that she could make out in the dark. She felt Brittany take one of her hands, bringing it to her mouth and kissing. Then she linked their fingers together.

"We shouldn't do this," Brittany whispered. She brought their linked hands up to her mouth again and kissed the top of Santana's left hand. Santana said nothing. "Not like this."

"Britt-" She tried to collect her thoughts as her breathing was slowly returning to normal.

"I like it when you call me that," Brittany smiled. "I don't want it to be like this. Not this time."

"I don't either," Santana said. It was the truth. She never ever wanted to wake up next to Brittany again and feel overcome by regret and guilt. She never wanted to have one of those awkward conversations again. The kind of conversation where neither of them knew what to say afterwards because Santana had said that it could never happen again, but it did and afterwards all she could think of was how to get the hell out.

"You look really hot though," Brittany sighed and ran a hand over Santana's bra-clad chest. Santana inhaled sharply and closed her eyes for a second. "But I just ... I don't want you to..." She searched around for words. "I don't want you to feel scared or pressured or anything."

Brittany shifted so that she was sitting on her knees in front of Santana. She looked a little unsure; as if she was half expecting that Santana would kick her out or say something mean and hurtful.

"I won't, but you're right." Santana sighed and gave Brittany a faint smile.

"We should go to movies and hold hands and then I should send you flowers. Or you should send me flowers." Brittany leaned down and kissed Santana's bare shoulder. "And we should go on picnics and walk through the park and go to amusement parks, and when we do you should buy my one of those overpriced stuffed Disney characters."

"Is that what Google says?" Santana asked, turning onto her side.

Brittany thought for a while. "That's what experience says," she said softly.

Brittany shifted on the bed, looking a little uncomfortable. Santana wanted to say something to assure her that it would be all right. To tell her that it's okay; that they'll be okay. But she didn't know if it would be. She wasn't sure that she wouldn't fuck it up this time or do something so incredibly stupid that she wouldn't be able to even believe it herself.

"Maybe I should go," Brittany said. "We could do something tomorrow or we could-"

"Stay." She didn't realize how desperately she wanted Brittany to stay until she thought that she might leave. "Please."

Brittany didn't say anything, but lay down next to her on the bed. She brushed a strand of hair from Santana's forehead before she took her hand again. They stayed like that for a while, neither saying anything.

"A while after you left," Brittany finally said, "I heard from someone that you'd moved to the city. I had no idea what you were doing here; whether you were going to school or if you were doing something else. I honestly couldn't even remember which schools in the area you'd been accepted to. I printed this map from the internet and I mapped out the route between Lima and here." She chuckled. "Sometimes I'd take out the map and figure out, from where I was standing, which direction would lead to you. And I'd just stand there and stare, thinking about how, if I started walking and I just kept going, I might eventually find you."

"Can I ask you something?" Santana asked hesitantly.

"Anything." Brittany shifted her head a little on the pillow.

Santana took a moment to study Brittany's eyes. They were open and honest. Clear; as though there was no way that they would ever be able to lie to her. "Were you planning on ever going to college?"

Brittany swallowed. "No," she whispered. "No, I wasn't."

Santana untangled their hands and smiled as she traced her thumb along Brittany's collarbone.

"Can I ask you something?" Brittany asked after a while.

Santana nodded. It was a slow tedious game of drawing out old secrets from one another before they could go on. As though they had to remember the past in order to finally forget it.

"What happened?" Santana immediately knew what Brittany was asking, but she waited for her to continue nonetheless. "That Monday when we found out about the ad. You were going to tell your parents and we were sitting behind the little wall by the pool. You said that you'd call me, that we could meet later and I waited. I waited until after midnight for you to call and you never did. Do you remember?" Of course she fucking remembered. "And the next day we met before school and you just said that everything was fine. I could see that everything wasn't fine and the more time went by the less fine everything became. But you just kept saying that everything was fine. They were fine. They just needed a little time. What happened that night? What _really_ happened? What did they say to you?"

Santana turned so that she was lying on her back. She stared at the ceiling. "Nothing."

"What?" Brittany asked quietly, sounding confused. "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"Nothing happened. They didn't say anything." She took a deep breath before she went on. "I had this whole fucking speech prepared. I was gonna start by telling them that I have something to tell them and I needed them to understand that it wasn't their fault. I kept reminding myself to tell them that it isn't because of something they did." Santana felt Brittany's hand on her shoulder; it was asking if she was okay. "They were in the living room. And I remember pausing at the door, wondering what would happen if I just turned around and ran. Just left. So I just went for it. I walked into the living room and I stood there in front of them, but as soon as I opened my mouth, I started crying hysterically." Santana paused, remembering how she couldn't understand why neither of her parents got up to comfort her. She turned around, away from Brittany and hugged her pillow close. "I don't even know how I eventually got it out. I think I just said, 'I'm gay' and then started crying all over again. And they just sat there, looking at me like I was crazy or something. I remember trying to read their faces, trying to see what they were thinking or feeling; but there was nothing."

She felt Brittany's body shift up behind her, an arm wrapping around her and pulling her closer. "They didn't do anything?" Brittany asked. "Didn't they say anything?"

"My dad set down his drink on the table and my mom started going on about how it was going to leave a mark." Santana swallowed. It was the first time that she'd ever told this story. It was one of the few times that she's ever thought about this story. "She got up to go get a coaster and my dad just stared at me. I waited for him to say something, anything, and he just stared at me until my mom came back. And then they said that they had to go, because they were having dinner at a colleague of my dad's and they were running late. When they walked out, my dad patted my shoulder. He fucking patted my shoulder and told me not to wait up for them."

Brittany hugged her closer and buried her face in Santana's neck. "Why didn't you call me? I would have come over; I'd have stayed with you."

"Because I waited for them." She had sat on the edge of a stupid fucking leather couch waiting. "I thought that maybe they were just shocked, you know. Maybe that'd take a few minutes, an hour or two, to get over the initial shock and then they'd come back and we'd talk about it. Or they'd yell at me. Or something." Santana moved and turned back onto her back, but Brittany kept her arms tightly around her waist. "They eventually came back a little after midnight. I was still waiting. Waiting for them, right there in the living room. And my mom walked in and asked why I was up so late on a school night. And then they went to bed," Santana said. She turned her head so that she could look at Brittany. "That's what happened. I should have told you ... I just ... didn't know what to say."

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, bringing up a hand to cup Santana's cheek.

"It's not your fault," Santana gave her a faint smile and wondered how the evening could have spiraled into such a gloomy mood so quickly. She took a deep breath, willing away the images of her teenage self, alone and waiting.

"God, talking about myself this much makes me feel like Rachel," she finally said. She knew that Brittany would know what she was doing. She would obviously see how unsubtle Santana was being in her attempt to change the topic. She propped herself up on an elbow, watching Brittany's mouth slowly curve into a smile.

"If you were Rachel you would have told it through song," Brittany said and Santana was thankful that she was playing along, allowing her to change the topic. "And you would have made us dress in costume and you would have sold tickets. Maybe even -"

"Can I kiss you now?" she asked and didn't wait for Brittany to answer before she leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the side of her mouth.

Santana kissed Brittany's mouth and the tip of her nose. She planted kisses above her eyes and moved down to kiss her neck. Lingering a little, she lightly sucked at the skin just above Brittany's collarbone. She kissed her shoulders and the crook of her arm. She let her fingers run over her side and down her stomach before she kissed the material that covered her breasts. She kissed the spot just above Brittany's belly button and then returned to her mouth. She repeated the same process over and over until she finally felt Brittany's breath grow deeper and steadier. Santana kissed her mouth one more time before she snuggled into Brittany's side, allowing herself, for the first time in many years, to think that everything might just turn out all right.

* * *

Santana sang _I Thought About You _by Billie Holiday


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note: Thank you to TinyFi311, Ryan47, and NoobNoMo for beta reading and valuable suggestions.

**Chapter 11**

Santana used to dream it often. She'd dream of Brittany. Everything about Brittany; the way she walked, the way she danced, the way she talked, the way she laughed. She'd regularly wake up in the middle of the night and in the safety of a pitch black room and allow herself, if only for a second, to remember the images of Brittany that floated in and out of her dreams. She'd remember all of the things that she tried so hard to forget during the day. In the first couple of months after she left Lima she'd wake up every night, haunted by blond hair and long, toned legs and the most beautiful laughter. As time went by her dreams became less frequent and hazier, but still, even now, she'd sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with vague images of an eighteen year old Brittany dancing around in her mind's eye. For a brief moment, usually while groggy and confused, she'd turn around and fling her arm over to the other side of the bed - where the sheets were smooth and cold.

It took her a few seconds to realize that this wasn't one of those nights. When she rolled over it took her a couple of moments to notice that the sheets were still warm and wrinkly and a little bunched together. It took her a few more seconds to remember, but when she did she was suddenly wide awake. She sat up too quickly and her head felt dizzy as she looked around the room. Brittany wasn't there. Santana wondered if this was how Brittany felt all those mornings – early mornings when Santana had kissed a sleeping Brittany on her cheek and left her alone as she snuck out before dawn to be anywhere but there.

She turned her head and slowly looked around her room. The blinds, which were half open the previous night, were now closed and her sweater was neatly folded on the chair in the corner. She was still in her jeans and bra, but someone had covered her with a blanket. Then, finally, her eyes landed on the little note that stood on her bedside table. Brittany's handwriting was big and her letters rounded.

_I didn't want to wake you, but I have to go to rehearsal. Text me when you wake up x _

She smiled as she picked up the note and reread it. She closed her eyes for a second and leaned her head back on the pillow, indulging in the Brittany-scent that still lingered there, before she reached over and grabbed her phone. She looked at the screen – it was 9:45 a.m. She yawned and quickly typed out a text to tell Brittany that she was awake.

She groaned when she stepped out of her room and was immediately greeted by the soundtrack to _Jesus Christ Superstar_. She really needed to revisit the no-musical-soundtracks-before-noon rule with Rachel, she thought, as she walked towards the kitchen. She could also hear Rachel's voice coming from somewhere. She never understood why Rachel had to speak at the top of her voice at all times, but Rachel insisted that she had to continually work at her projection to ensure that she doesn't lose her touch. The voice became a little clearer as she neared the kitchen. She stopped dead in her tracks, just outside of the kitchen door, when she heard a familiar name – the name that screamed out to her whenever she saw or heard it anywhere.

"I'm just saying, Kurt, that I am absolutely positive that Brittany didn't sleep here last night. I came in at half past one and she wasn't here. And this morning when I got up she was in the living room, dressed and ready to go, but I took the liberty of quickly checking after she left and her sheets and blankets were in the exact same place that they were in last night," she heard Rachel say.

"That's creepy, Rachel," Kurt replied. Santana briefly wondered why Kurt was there. But then again, she realized, Kurt was always there. "And maybe she was just out with friends and stayed over. She's friends with the other performers in the show, isn't she? Or maybe she had insomnia or something and just stayed up all night."

"Kurt, you are not listening to me! I'm telling you that I ran into her this morning just before she left and she was wearing a tank top."

Santana flattened herself against the wall and leaned her upper body forward a little, turning her head so that she could see Kurt's face reflected in the microwave. He was looking at Rachel somewhat incredulously, wearing the expression he always had when he thought that Rachel was being crazy, but wouldn't tell her that much. Santana tilted her head to hear more.

"People wear tank tops all the time, Rachel! It doesn't mean that they're having sex with strangers," Kurt tried again.

Santana's mind ran back to the conversation she had with Kurt a few weeks ago. She wasn't sure how much Kurt knew about her and Brittany, but she silently prayed that he wouldn't say anything about the little he did know.

"Her choice of clothing, bizarre as I sometimes find it, is not the issue here. The crucial point that I'm trying to draw your attention to is how little her clothing left to the imagination," Rachel paused a second. "_My_ imagination."

"You've completely lost me now," Kurt sighed as _What's the Buzz?_ sounded softly through the apartment. Santana started moving to turn off the music so that she could hear better, but then realized that Rachel would probably notice and know that she was up. So, pressing herself even flatter against the wall she quietly gave a step to her right. She was now only a few feet from the kitchen door.

"Well, let's just say ... that her exposed neck made it clear," Rachel paused for a moment before she awkwardly continued, "... that ... that she had recently engaged ...engaged in activities of a sexual nature, so to speak. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Santana slumped against the wall. Unlike Kurt, she had a pretty good idea of where Rachel was going with this conversation and for various reasons she hoped that Rachel would just stop talking.

"I hope not, because I have horrific images in my mind right now," Kurt said. He gave a few steps so that Santana could no longer see him, even if she leaned forward. She quietly tried to give a step forward to see more.

"A hickey, Kurt," Rachel hissed. "She had a hickey that wasn't there when she arrived last night."

"Maybe you just didn't see it last night," Kurt suggested.

"I am 5'2", she's 5'8"." There was a short silence. Presumably Kurt was waiting for Rachel to elaborate.

"I don't understand how that is relevant," he said when it was clear that Rachel was not going to continue without any prompting.

"It's relevant because it means that Brittany is _always_ at neck height for me. Also, she was definitely very uncomfortable." Santana thought back to the previous night. To Brittany's impatient expression silently willing Rachel to leave. "I only saw her for a few minutes, but you could cut the tension with a knife. I couldn't put my finger on it last night, possibly because I was in a hurry to get to your place and preoccupied with my upcoming performance in _Oklahoma!_, but in retrospect I realize that she showed all the tell-tale signs of a guilty conscience." Rachel dropped her voice a little, but even her whispers could easily be heard through the apartment. "She was just standing there, not saying much – I think she might have been scared that she'd accidentally let something slip – while poor Santana so unselfishly welcomed her into our home."

"Rachel, that's really none of our business and even if it was, I really don't have the energy to deal with some twisted version of _The Real L Word _right now. I had to deal with an intern yesterday who didn't know what a pashmina is. I can only take so much," Kurt said with a stern voice. Santana wanted to hug him and kick his ass at the same time.

"I'm not asking you to stage an intervention – I think we should wait and get more information before we do that - but I think Santana might also have picked up on it and that it's really getting to her," Rachel said. Santana could hear her pacing up and down in the kitchen.

"How so?" Kurt wanted to know and Santana frowned. She was quite curious to hear Rachel's answer herself.

"Well, she kept asking me if I'd like some tea. And Thursday she complemented my stellar performance of _Tell Him._ Granted, I was quite extraordinary – I did both Celine and Barbra's parts – and it most likely was of a higher quality than any other performance that she's seen this year, but still. She said it was 'ah-mah-zing'. She said it just like that. Ah-mah-zing," Rachel said, trying to imitate Santana's tone.

Santana sighed. While it was true that she had been ever so slightly kinder to Rachel during the past week than she would usually be, and that she had sat through Rachel's performance of _Tell Him_ a few times, Rachel seemed to have forgotten her rant about the stupid shower schedule. Rachel also seemed to have forgotten about the note Santana left her, threatening her with torture and possible death if she ever failed to clearly mark her food as vegan again.

"She was probably being sarcastic," Kurt offered.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Rachel asked seriously. "But you can't tell anyone. Especially not Santana." Santana leaned even closer to the kitchen door.

"Indulge me."

"I think Santana may be very close to a psychotic breakdown," Rachel said in a loud, solemn whisper.

"Rachel, you're close to a psychotic breakdown!" Kurt exclaimed.  
"Would you be quiet? And I'm serious. I looked up some of the symptoms. And I'm not blind - whenever we're in the kitchen I see the way she looks at the knives. If we don't fix this thing with Brittany, or at least keep it from Santana, my life could be in grave danger, Kurt. What if she loses her temper and stabs me to death? Or worse, what if she slits my throat and I survive but my vocal chords are damaged? I wouldn't be able to live like that!"

"Oh, would you calm down? If Santana was going to stab you, she would have done it a long time ago. I'm sure she's fine. It's been a long year, everybody is tired and stressed out, but I'm sure she'll be fine." Santana could hear Kurt moving in the kitchen. "I need to go; I have an appointment to have my eyebrows threaded."

Santana tried to move away, but it was too late. By the time Kurt came through the door she was still pressed against the wall, her eyes widening as she saw him. For a moment it looked like he might not notice her, but then he stopped and gave a step backwards to face her.

"Fix this!" he said through his teeth, pointing a finger at her while cautiously glancing to the kitchen. "And quit being so nice to Rachel, it's freaking her out!"

She said nothing as she watched him walk out of the apartment, but took care not to be too friendly to Rachel when she wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee.

* * *

Santana waited outside of the greyish building until Brittany had finished rehearsal. Brittany's hair was still a little wet when she stepped out and wrapped an arm around Santana's waist. She liked this; it was something that she could get used to. Walking around the city with Brittany, their fingers intertwined. She liked the idea that other people would be able to see that they were together. Not a couple _per se _– because honestly Santana wasn't sure what they were – but something. They were something more than regular friends. Occasionally Brittany would bump her hip against Santana's and look over to her and Santana wouldn't care that the cold was making the tip of her nose a little numb.

Although she didn't tell her that much, she took Brittany to the little bakery where she used to spend her mornings when Brittany first arrived in the city and Santana wished that she could sit at a small round table forever, her hand casually resting on Brittany's as they talked. She'd forgotten how they used to talk. How they'd stay up for hours talking. She'd forgotten the way Brittany would draw her attention to the most random things, like how the clouds were kind of shaped like giant flip flops and how their waitress' one ear was slightly smaller than the other.

Later, they went down to the park and sat on a bench, just like Santana had always secretly wanted to do. And a little later Brittany tried to buy a wild goose from a woman that Santana was pretty sure was either homeless or a drug dealer, perhaps both. Brittany had argued the asking price down to $7 when Santana was finally able to pull her away, leaving the grubby looking woman and bewildered goose behind.

They'd tell Rachel that they were dating the next weekend, they decided. They'd sit her down and tell her the whole story and hopefully she'd be fine. Brittany hoped that Rachel wouldn't throw her out; Santana hoped that Rachel wouldn't break out in song. Santana suggested that they sneak her a sedative beforehand, but Brittany shot her down, saying that Rachel might forget everything they'd told her and then they'd have to do it all over again.

Brittany whined until Santana got dressed up and navigated them to the nearest club. (When Brittany rhythmically moved her body – sensually, seductively – Santana couldn't remember why she had ever thought that this might not be the best idea). They drank enough mojitos to allow Santana to push Brittany up against a wall outside of the club without much inhibition, her tongue tracing over the skin below Brittany's jaw line, but not enough to let them do anything more. By the time she climbed into bed, Santana couldn't tell why she was feeling light headed anymore. It could have been from the alcohol. But more likely it was from the way Brittany moaned and pushed her hips against Santana's before Santana reluctantly broke their kiss and left Brittany in the living room, flustered and slightly out of breath.

It was too soon, too sudden, when Santana watched a cab pulling away on Sunday afternoon. She sat on the sidewalk, waving, until she couldn't tell which cab was Brittany's anymore.

* * *

If she felt less guilty she probably would have just stayed at home. She would have told Rachel to get lost and spend the evening watching illegally downloaded movies, trying to restrict the number of texts that she would send to Brittany. But her conscience was still gnawing at her about the fact that she still hadn't had a conversation with Rachel about Brittany, so she reluctantly agreed to tag along to _Gentlemen's Paradise Karaoke Pub's_ karaoke night. Strangely enough, despite the word being in its name, _Gentlemen's Paradise Karaoke Pub_ only allowed karaoke on Thursday nights. This was an oddity that Santana was very grateful for, since Rachel often stepped onto the stage at 6 p.m. on a Thursday night and refused to stop singing before the last customers left - which was usually around 2 a.m. the next morning.

She sat at their table and sipped her third margarita, typing out a text to Brittany who wanted to know if she'd rather be a deaf chameleon or a blind cricket. Kurt sat next to her, tapping his fingers in an annoyed fashion as he waited for her to finish. A few feet from them, on the stage, Rachel was already belting out the chorus to a Dolly Parton song. Although Rachel was usually very peculiar about the songs she sang (she said that she couldn't be sure that someone wouldn't record her singing a Shania Twain number and sell it once she was famous) she was usually content to sing whatever came onto the screen on Thursday nights. She had attempted to bring her own music a few times, after which Tony the bartender put a sign above the bar that read _No Hawkers, No Personal Soundtracks._

"We need to talk," Kurt yelled over Rachel's voice coming through the speakers nearby.

"I need another drink," Santana said and pushed her empty glass over to the other side of the table. She had a strong suspicion that it had something to do with the conversation that she'd overheard on Saturday morning and she definitely needed more alcohol before she could have _that _conversation. She deliberately took her time at the bar, having a weird conversation with Tony about his organic vegetable garden, while she occasionally looked over to where Kurt was now sitting alone. She looked away and threw back a shot of tequila before ordering another margarita.

Her legs felt a little unsteady when she walked back to their table. Rachel, who Santana knew was on her 9:45 p.m. break, was sitting next to Kurt with a cup of tea in front of her. Santana had long given up on trying to establish how Rachel managed to order tea in a bar where the bartender regularly told people off for ordering wine coolers. Whenever she asked, Rachel shrugged and said that Tony supported the arts and understood the importance of soothing one's vocal chords before and after performances.

"You know, Santana," Rachel said when Santana sat down across from her, "my many, many years working in theatre has helped me achieve extraordinary levels of emotional intelligence. In fact, when I tried to do an online EQ test last week, it couldn't calculate my emotional intelligence at all. It kept saying that there was an error – obviously because it didn't cater for individuals with EQs as high as my own."

"What the fuck is an EQ," Santana asked with a frown. She took a large sip of her drink and could feel the alcohol travelling through her body quickly.

"Emotional Quotient ..." Rachel look a little puzzled before she asked, "Didn't you get the article that I left on the fridge? I emailed you the link to the test as well."

Kurt sighed. "I suspect that there wouldn't be a test on this earth that would be able to measure Santana's EQ," he said dryly. Santana shot him a dirty look and wished that Brittany was there so that they could laugh at his floppy, cockatiel hair.

"Never mind that," Rachel brushed off Kurt's comment, "I'll help you complete it over the weekend. I also have a book with exercises that you can borrow. What I meant to say was that I have highly developed and extremely intuitive sense of the emotional that really climaxed after my performance in _Oedipus _-"

"My emotions also reached a peak after that fucking performance," Santana scoffed. "And please don't use the word 'climax' in my presence."

Rachel cleared her throat before she continued, "After my performance in _Oedipus _I can often sense when those around me are struggling on an emotional level." She paused for a second and reached over to put her hand over Santana's. "And when those around me are in great need of support I am able to immediately pick up on that."

"Is there a point to your rambling or are you just trying to make friendly conversation?" Santana asked and uncomfortably looked down at Rachel's hand on her own.

"Santana, you are my fourth best friend -" she started.

"Wait, I got bumped down?" Santana pulled her hand away from Rachel's.

"It was after the chicken in the sex shop incident," Kurt explained with a shrug.

Rachel just nodded. "You are my fourth best friend and I just wanted to assure you that I am here for you," she said solemnly. "And I sense that you might be in dire need of the type of mature emotional support that I am able to offer. So if there is anything, and I mean _anything_, that you would like to talk about, please know that I am here for you. I'd be more than happy to listen and help where I can."

"You could help by getting us another round of drinks," Santana said and slammed her empty glass down in front of Rachel. Her mouth tasted of tequila and lime.

"What I meant was actually -" Rachel started to object. She paused however and then nodded at Santana sympathetically. She got up from her seat and took Santana's empty glass. "No, I could do that. I'll be right back."

"Would you just tell her about Brittany?" Kurt hissed as soon as Rachel was out of earshot.

Santana looked at him curiously. Hearing Brittany's name oddly made her feel a little sad. She looked at the empty chair next to her, wishing again that Brittany was there. Her eyes travelled back to Kurt's, but she didn't say anything.

"Santana, you have to tell her," he said in a whisper, "She's convinced that Brittany is having some kind of illicit love affair with a stranger she met somewhere in the city. And she's convinced that you're going to have your heart broken."

"That might still happen," she said softly. She swallowed hard before she spoke on. "That's exactly why I haven't told her yet. Do I really have to explain everything to you again?"

"No, I understood perfectly well the first time. And I think that you're being a whiny, immature baby who is afraid that others will notice that she's not made of real stone."

"That's not true," she said. She could feel her chest tighten a little, her eyes stinging. "We agreed we'd talk to her over the weekend. I'm just ... I'm scared. I mean, have you seen Brittany? She's awesome! And pretty. And smart. And kind. She could get anybody she wanted." She looked away, hoping that Kurt wouldn't see her trembling chin. "And I'm just ... I'm me. She's awesome and I'm me."

"Santana," Kurt started.

"I'll talk to her, okay?" Santana glanced over to where Rachel was standing at the bar, trying to balance three drinks in her two hands. "I will talk to her; we said that we'd talk to her. I just don't want to do it without Brittany."

"That's sweet, but seriously, you have to talk to her," Kurt said as Rachel started walking back to the table. "And, for goodness' sake, be more careful with your sucking."

"You be more careful with your sucking!" she said, perhaps a little louder than she had intended. She slammed her hand on the table and laughed loudly at her own joke. She strangely felt like she was laughing and crying at the same time. "You see what I did there? Wanky!"

"There you go, Santana," Rachel said and put the drinks down on the table. "Spirits to lift your spirits." She looked at Kurt and Santana with anticipation, waiting for them to at least crack a smile at her joke. When neither did, she pursed her lips together and quietly took her seat.

"I'm afraid that too much spirits may have caused us to surpass the point of spirit lifting," Kurt said. He had that annoying superior grin that Santana always wanted to smack off his face. He pointed towards her. "I'm pretty sure I saw some tears just now."

"Shut the fuck up!" Santana told him and sniffed loudly. She turned her attention back to Rachel, who was once again looking at Santana with an overly sympathetic look on her face. Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, Santana really liked the way that Rachel cared about her. "Your hair is so shiny and straight," she finally said, moving her chair a little closer to Rachel's. She ran a hand over Rachel's hair and Rachel shot Kurt an uncomfortable look. "I wish I had straight hair like yours," she continued and pulled her fingers through her own hair.

Rachel sat up a little and took a sip of her tea. "Well, I try to condition my hair with papaya and kiwi extract at least once a week and I only wash my hair with water that is room temperature. It protects the roots," she said and Santana ran her hand over Rachel's hair again.

She looked at Rachel. Rachel, who had never been mean or rude to her, despite Santana's daily verbal assaults. Rachel, who sat listening to her cry about Brittany all those years ago. Rachel, who, except for Brittany, perhaps knew all her flaws better than anybody else and mostly loved her despite all of them. She continued stroking Rachel's hair and felt a sudden rush of affection for her – the kind of affection that she only felt towards Rachel when she had way too much to drink. It was the annoying type of affection that made her want to share stuff with Rachel.

She took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something," Santana started and saw a look of worry spread across Rachel's face. "But you're not allowed to sing about it and I don't want you to give me that look."

"What look?" Rachel asked.

"That look," Santana pointed to Rachel's face. She took a large gulp of the drink in front of her. "The one that you get when I'm talking to you and you want to say something annoying or condescending, but you're scared that I'll stab you."

"You did come after me that one time ..." Rachel moved her chair a little backwards.

"It was a plastic spoon," Santana defended.

"It's the idea that counts," Rachel said.

"Whatever," Santana shrugged off Rachel's comment and took a sip of the drink in front of her even though she wasn't sure if it was her drink. "Are you gonna listen or what?"

"Santana, I pride myself on my incredible listening abilities. It's the reason I have perfect pitch, after all," Rachel said with a hand on her heart.

Santana took another deep breath as she collected her thoughts. "I have to tell you something," she began. "It's about Brittany ..."

"I know," Rachel interrupted her.

"What?" Santana asked surprised. "You know?"

Rachel took Santana's hand between her own. "Yes, and I want you to know that I am here for you. I suspect that none of us realized the intensity of your feelings for Brittany. Feelings that all of us thought were long forgotten, but you obviously continuously fostered, even to this very day. And it's nothing to be ashamed of Santana. If I were you, and I had to see someone I had feelings for go around, and be with other people -"

"Wait," Santana stopped her. She had to run Rachel's words through her mind a few times before she realized what was going on. "You don't understand, just listen -"

"No," Rachel said with a sombre shake of her head, "it's okay. You don't have to go through the cathartic process of verbalizing your feelings right now. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. If you need some help to guide this process along though, I'll give you the recipe for the mixture that I always use as part of my post breakup cleansing ritual." Santana could do nothing but drop her head onto the table as she listened to Rachel's misguided advice. "I find it really helpful when one is trying to move forward from one's feelings for a certain individual who does not necessarily reciprocate said feelings. I'll even help you make it. It's quite simple; you take stain remover, jasmine and cayenne pepper-" Santana didn't listen any further before the first sob shook through her body.

Twenty minutes later Rachel stood awkwardly by Santana's side, rubbing her back. Her sobbing had mostly subsided, but still, every time either Rachel or Kurt tried to talk to her, she felt tears stinging at the back of her eyelids.

"Do you have another tissue?" she asked Rachel and sniffled.

"I'm afraid that I'm all out. I used most of what I had to wipe the mic clean earlier," Rachel said nervously. She looked over to where Kurt was looking over the playlist near the stage. "Kurt! Do you have a tissue?"

Kurt shook his head at Santana, looking annoyed. "No," he said, walking back to their table. "I don't understand why she doesn't bring her own tissues when she knows she'll be drinking!"

Upon hearing his words Santana started sobbing a little harder, but Kurt just huffed and walked away again. "I think I lost my drink," Santana choked out.

Rachel's hand stilled when she leaned over and patiently explained, "You didn't lose it, you drank it. And then you drank mine. And Kurt's."

Santana just nodded slightly before she dropped her head in her arms again, renewed sobs shaking through her body.

* * *

_She didn't cry. She didn't cry as she sat waiting for her parents to come home. She nervously scratched at the brown leather couch and she kept glancing over to the clock on the opposite wall, but she didn't cry. She didn't cry when they eventually came home and her mother asked why she wasn't in bed yet. She didn't cry when she first saw the ad come onto her television screen the next day. She got up and walked out as soon as she saw Sue's picture on her screen, not waiting to see her own face appear. She stood outside and smoked three cigarettes, one after the other, willing away the images and words that, although she'd only seen it once, replayed over and over in her mind. Despite knowing that this meant that everyone would have seen it by the time school started the next morning, her expression remained stoic and she didn't cry. She didn't cry when she walked into the kitchen later that night and heard her mother talking on the telephone in a hushed tone. She wondered who her mother was speaking to, but didn't ask. When her mom told her that the rest of the family wouldn't be coming down for Thanksgiving anymore she knew who she'd been speaking to, but she didn't cry. She just stared at her and wondered if her eyes looked as tired as her mother's did._

_She walked out of the house, not bothering to take her car keys, and down the street. She walked slowly at first. A car drove past her and she wondered if they had seen. She knew that it probably didn't make sense, that most people wouldn't recognize her from a thirty second ad and that most wouldn't care. But some would. Some would care like her parents cared. Without saying a word, some people's eyes would silently judge her the way her mother's eyes silently judged her. They would look at her with looks of incomprehension and worry and judgment and disbelief. They would wait until she left before they'd verbalize their judgment in hushed tones. Maybe they'd think that it's a shame, she's such a pretty girl after all. Perhaps they would speculate about whether or not it was true. Or maybe, she thought as she wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and picked up the pace a little, they would just quietly be thankful that it wasn't their child. That this wasn't happening to them. When she rounded the final corner she felt like running and when she finally saw the purple deer, tucked away between two trees and a few rose bushes, she felt like crying but didn't. _

_She opened the door and found the house eerily silent. As though the house somehow knew that it would be inappropriate to be happy and jubilant. She found Brittany sitting on her bed with her legs crossed. Brittany didn't say anything, but got up and pulled her into a hug. She held her tight and kissed the top of her head and told her that everything would be okay. That's what everyone kept saying. That everything would be okay. Brittany kept telling her that, over and over, until she couldn't stand it anymore and pulled away. She stood by the foot of Brittany's bed and absentmindedly traced her fingers over the notches on the frame of the bed. They looked faded and old. As though it was in another lifetime that she used to stand there, in that exact spot, and quietly count the number of notches. It felt like another lifetime when she would do her best to keep a straight face every time she noticed a new notch. She looked at the faded wood and couldn't understand why her heart was feeling just as heavy now as it did back then. Now that everything was supposed to be different. She blinked a few times and felt tears stinging at the back of her eyes and she didn't know if it was because of now or because of then. But she didn't cry. She continued to trace her fingers over the frame and listened to Brittany telling her that she loves her and everything would be fine. _

_It was only when Brittany left the room to go find them something to drink that she fell to the ground in a prayer-like position. She dropped her head onto her knees and cried. And once she started crying she didn't know if she'd be able to stop ever again._

* * *

It was just after ten o'clock on Friday night when Santana finally got home. Apparently, in her state of drunkenness the previous night, she'd agreed to go to the opening of some play with Rachel. By the time Rachel texted Santana to remind her that they were supposed to meet at the theatre at 7, and that she had managed to get both of them invitations to the cast party after the show, it was too late to cancel. So she had no other choice but to phone Brittany and tell her that she'd be home late. Her annoyance about having to give up time she could have spent with Brittany to sit through a postmodern play about two needles and a haystack – creatively titled _Two Needles in a Haystack_ – led her to politely decline Rachel's invite to the cast party however. So she ignored the worried look that Rachel gave her and headed home.

Every last thought about Rachel's worries and pretentious plays and after-parties flew out the window when she opened the door and Brittany was sitting on the couch, waiting. She stood in the door, taking a moment to appreciate the way blood rushed to her head every time – every single time - she saw Brittany. But then Brittany was already up and had pulled her into an embrace.

"Hi," she said bashfully and gave Brittany a kiss. It was short and chaste, but enough to remind Santana why she'd been looking forward to the weekend all week long.

"Hi," Brittany gave her another kiss and sighed against her lips. "Where's Rachel?" she then asked, seemingly remembering and taking a step back.

"I sold her." Santana shrugged and slumped down on the couch.

"Really?" Brittany gave her a curious look and sat down next to her. "How much did you get? Because the guy with the funny moustache who works at the pizza place said that he'd pay $1200. If you got less you should see if you could reverse the transaction and call him instead. I think his name is Saul, you should talk to him."

"She's at the cast party," Santana sighed and pulled Brittany's legs onto her lap. "Something about networking and getting her face out there." Brittany said nothing but scrunched her nose. "I know, it's gross. Have you been waiting long?"

Brittany shook her head, leaning over to take Santana's hand and link their fingers together. They sat like that for a while, not really saying much. Occasionally one of them would lean in for a kiss that would make Santana feel giggly. She quietly studied Brittany's profile and blushed when Brittany caught her staring.

"I was wondering," Santana said after a while, "just if you wanted to ... I mean if you don't want to that'd be fine, and we could just ... whatever ... but there is this thing next weekend."

"A thing?" Brittany raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," she said quickly and nervously ran her thumb across Brittany's palm. "There's this thing with some people from school and I was wondering if you'd like to go. I mean, if you want. If you don't then that's fine."

"I would have loved to," Brittany said softly. "But I'm not coming next weekend."

"What do you mean?" Santana stared at her blankly. It seemed impossible that she would not be able to see Brittany for two whole weeks. "You're here every weekend, you said that you were gonna be here every weekend."

"Most weekends," Brittany said. She brought Santana's hand to her mouth and gently kissed her knuckles. Her eyes, soft and understanding, met Santana's when she continued, "I'll be here most weekends, but it's my dad's birthday on Wednesday, so we're going camping on the weekend."

Of course it's her dad's birthday. How could she forget that? It was her dad's birthday and for some strange reason, even though the weather was usually awful, the Pierces always went camping for his birthday. They invited Santana along one year. They stayed in tents and when, in an attempt to stay warm, she ended up sharing a sleeping bag with Brittany, she thought that camping in November was the most brilliant thing that she'd ever heard of.

"Yeah, sure," Santana nodded. "Of course." She loved and hated how quickly she'd gotten used to having Brittany there every weekend. Like her unconscious simply expected that, naturally, she'd never have to wait more than five days to see Brittany. Hold her. Kiss her.

"I'll miss you though," Brittany said shyly. The sides of her mouth curled into a smile and Santana wondered if Brittany, too, remembered the feeling of their bodies entangled in a sleeping bag on a cold November night.

"Really?" She looked at the open, honest expression on Brittany's face. It somehow made her feel better to think that she wasn't the only one who desperately wanted Brittany to be with her every weekend.

"Of course I will," Brittany said as though it was quite obvious. "I miss you all the time when I'm not here. I've been missing you every day for the last six years." Santana's heart skipped a beat. "Except for the couple of times I went to the zoo. I didn't miss you on those days, because zoos make you whiny."

"I hate zoos," Santana said, mostly because the way her heart was pounding in her chest was making it impossible for her to think of anything intelligible to say.

"I know," Brittany smiled and bit her bottom lip. She squeezed Santana's hand a little tighter. "You should come visit me."

"Visit you?" Santana realized that she'd never thought of the possibility of visiting Brittany.

"Totally," Brittany said. "You could see where I live and where I work and stuff. I'll take you around and introduce you to everyone."

"I'd like that," Santana said, nodding. She tried to picture what Brittany's apartment looks like. Who her friends are. What the studio where she works looks like. She liked the idea of knowing what Brittany's life looked like. Not the fragmented bits that she'd gotten to know on weekends in the city, but Brittany's everyday life. She wanted to know the color of Brittany's towels and which brand of fabric softener she used. She wanted to see what Brittany kept in her fridge and if her bed still faced southwest.

"Santana?" Brittany asked shyly. She pulled her feet up from Santana's lap and sat up a little.

"Mmm?"

"If you come to visit me," she began, "and I introduce you to people - to my friends - who should I introduce you as?"

"What do you mean?" Santana gave Brittany a puzzled look. She shuddered when Brittany lightly stroked the inside of her forearm.

"Well," Brittany looked down at her lap as she gathered her thoughts, "I mean you'll come and visit me and we'll go out with my friends and I'll be like 'This is Santana'. And they'll wait until you leave to go to the bathroom or something and then they'll be like 'Who is Santana?' and maybe my friend Luke will make some rude comment about your ass and I'll shrug and they'll be like, 'No, seriously, who is she?'" Brittany spoke fast without looking up from her hands. It was only a few seconds later that she looked up at Santana, trying to see if she understood the question.

"Oh." Santana mouthed as the meaning of Brittany's question became clearer to her. She leaned back against the couch a little.

"Yeah," Brittany nodded.

"I don't know," she said and took Brittany's hand again. She took a deep breath and softly asked, "What do you want to say?"

Brittany didn't answer immediately. "I don't know," she finally said. She looked down again as a timid smile spread across her face. "Or maybe I do, I'm not sure."

"I really like you," Santana said as she shifted on the couch, moving closer to Brittany. She wondered if Brittany knew how much she liked her.

"I really like you, too," Brittany whispered.

Santana didn't reply immediately. Her eyes roamed over everything of Brittany's that she loved. The color of her hair. The shape of her eyes. The freckle just above her upper lip. The way her lips curled into a shy smile. The way she tilted her head when she found something amusing. "So then what is this?" The thought that it might not be what she wanted it to be scared her more than she could ever explain. "What are we doing?"

Brittany seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then another. Her expression was serious. "I'm not sure what you're doing," she finally said. She swallowed and looked straight at Santana. "But I think I'm falling in love."

Santana's heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. She tried to think of an appropriate response. She could think of a hundred things to say and yet she couldn't get her mouth to form a single coherent sentence. "I ... uhm ... I just ..." she started. She felt laughter bubbling in her throat as she just nodded. "I -" she was cut off by a kiss.

"You don't have to say anything," Brittany said and kissed her again.

She wanted to tell Brittany that she thought she might have loved her since forever. That she might have never stopped loving her. That she thought that she'd love her forever. Everything about her. Every single thing. But then Brittany pulled her onto her lap and kissed and sucked and bit at her bottom lip and her ability to form even a single coherent phrase flew out the window. She shivered when Brittany's mouth moved to her neck, her hands tangled in her hair. She felt Brittany's mouth and hands move to the exposed skin just above her cleavage, moaning when Santana pushed out her chest a little. Santana tugged at Brittany's jacket; unsatisfied by the way it restricted her access to the places her hands so desperately wanted to explore. Brittany broke their kiss and helped Santana take off her scarf and jacket.

As soon as Brittany's jacket fell to the floor Santana leaned in for another kiss, but Brittany was already standing, pulling Santana up with her. She walked them backwards, pulling Santana with her, to her room. Even as they were walking backwards, Brittany's lips never left Santana's. But even without looking she steered them towards the right direction - Brittany always seemed to be able to steer them in the right direction.

Santana felt Brittany's back hit the door. Not opening it immediately she pushed her against the door, slightly rocking forward. "I love everything about you," she moaned into Brittany's mouth. Brittany grunted and snaked her arms around Santana's waist, turning them so that she was now pushing Santana against the door. She opened the door, guiding Santana inside. She pushed her backwards until the back of Santana's knees hit the edge of the bed. She moved backwards, sitting down on the bed. She leaned forward and kissed Brittany's stomach through the material of her shirt. Taking both of Brittany's hands she pulled her onto the bed with her. She leaned forward and placed open mouthed kisses underneath Brittany's jaw line, kissing her way down to her shoulder and back up to her neck again.

She wanted to pause, to stop for a moment and soak in every detail. The way Brittany's skin felt against her lips. The way Brittany's hands roamed over her body, searching, asking. The way their bodies seemed to fit together, gently rocking into one another. Brittany tilted her head and recaptured Santana's mouth in a kiss. It was hungrier, needier than before. It made her want to gasp out Brittany's name. It made her want to forget that there had ever been a time when they weren't together like this. A time when she had to live without feeling Brittany's hands on her back, moaning into her mouth when she pulled down Santana's zipper and broke their kiss to pull her dress over her head.

She sighed when Brittany dipped down and kissed the valley between her breasts, her hands trailing up her sides. Long fingers trailed up her back and gripped at her shoulders, pulling her onto Brittany. Her hands clutched at Brittany's shirt, tugging and pulling until Brittany lifted her torso from the bed and pulled the shirt over her head. Her pants and underwear followed as Santana's hands and mouth impatiently explored her naked skin. God, she'd forgotten how the slight curves of Brittany's hips made her heart beat erratically. She remembered how the smell of Brittany would drive her insane when she traced her fingers over her lower abdomen, her tongue following its trail, feeling the muscles tighten when she let her mouth linger there.

She didn't have much more time to think before Brittany rolled them over so that Santana was lying on her back. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as she felt Brittany's tongue run across her inner thigh. She kissed and sucked, running her tongue across the same spot over and over. Brittany lifted her head a little, searching for Santana's eyes before she placed one last kiss on the inside of Santana's thigh and then moved her mouth higher. Covering her face with one of her arms Santana moaned into the back of her hand. Santana's breathing hitched when she felt Brittany's hand around her wrist, gently pulling her arm away from her face. "I want to see you," she whispered thickly.

Her breathing was nervous and unsteady as she watched Brittany's eyes roam over her face and travel down. She remembered being sixteen years old and the way she had cautiously watched Brittany take off her cheerleading uniform. The way she'd felt nervous and naked and vulnerable. Back then she hated feeling like this. Now she loved the way Brittany made her feel vulnerable and exposed and how she didn't really care at all. Brittany took a few moments, steadying herself by resting one arm on the bed beside Santana, her other hand tracing feathery circles over Santana's chest. Then Brittany's mouth was on her mouth again and she had caught her lower lip between her teeth and her hands were cupping Santana's breasts as she moaned into her mouth. She pushed her back onto the bed, slipping one of her legs between Santana's. Santana bucked her hips forward a little.

"Please," she gently placed her hand on top of Brittany's and slowly guided it over her chest and down her stomach. "Britt ..." She heard a hike in Brittany's breathing. "Please," she repeated - almost whispering - her other hand cupping Brittany's face. Brittany's hand pushed against her and then inside of her and she didn't understand how she'd been able to live without this. She didn't understand how she'd been able to live without Brittany's mouth closing over one of her nipples and then moving to her mouth, blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. She didn't understand how she'd been able to live without hearing Brittany's guttural moans when she lifted her hips a little to meet her steady thrusts and the way she moved a little faster when Santana reached back and grabbed a hold of her headboard.

It was too slow and too fast. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the headboard tighter when Brittany's fingers curled and moved inside of her. She watched the way Brittany, slightly out of breath, bowed her head down and kissed the hollow behind her knees. She cursed when Brittany pulled her leg up to her shoulder and leaned forward into her body. She took in every moment, every word. Every movement. She took in every curve of Brittany's body. The rise and fall of her chest. Her throaty moans. She memorized the way Brittany moved against her body. The way she whispered soft words against her skin. The way she kissed her over and over again, her mouth sweet and musky.

She took it all in and remembered the way her body had always instinctively moved in sync with Brittany's. Her hands roamed over Brittany's body - exploring, seeking, asking for more. Revisiting the places that she'd remembered and rediscovering those she'd moved together in a way that was familiar and unfamiliar. She cried out impatiently and pulled Brittany closer. Lifting her upper body from the bed she pushed Brittany back until she lay flat on her back, her head at the foot of the bed. She moved back and nudged Brittany's knees apart, her blunt nails trailing from her calves up to her inner thighs. Santana took a few seconds, pausing, looking. Then she knelt down between Brittany's legs. Brittany lifted her head a little to meet her gaze. Her eyes were heavy, silently pleading, begging. Santana kept their eyes locked until she finally moved her hand again – higher, closer – and she heard Brittany cry out as she felt two fingers push inside of her.

She would moan louder later. Santana would gasp as Brittany shifted and she could feel her move up her body. She would moan as Brittany straddled her waist and she saw her right hand travel down her torso and disappear between her own thighs. She would gasp when Brittany brought one of her fingers to Santana's mouth and she let her tongue swirl around it, tasting herself. Later her fingers would trace over the droplets of sweat that trickled down Brittany's back. Brittany's hands would be tangled in her hair as her tongue rediscovered all the ways that she could drive Brittany over the most beautiful of edges. Her senses would drown in Brittany; her gentle but determined touches, the way she panted out Santana's name over and over and over, the soft whimpering sounds she made as Santana locked her ankles behind her lower back, pushing forward in a desperate attempt to get even closer. To have more. Much later she would worry, for just a second, that Rachel might be around after all and hear them, but then Brittany's fingers would explore and tug and curve deep inside of her and, frankly, she wouldn't care.

But all of that would happen later. Right now she was lost in the sublime way that Brittany's back arched, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other reaching up to pull Santana closer, closer, closer.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: Thank you, TinyFi311; thank you, Ryan47; thank you, NoobNoMo.

**Chapter 12**

_It started on a Wednesday. It started on a Wednesday towards the end of July when she simply couldn't stay anymore. It was a Wednesday when she just couldn't sit around the house for one more minute. When she could no longer stand feeling guilt and heartache and regret, like fingers slowly closing around her throat, desperately trying to strangle her. She couldn't stand worrying for even another second that she might run into Brittany if she dared to go out. She couldn't stand having to ignore another phone call from one of her friends – friends who she knew would ask and she simply wouldn't have any answers. It started on a Wednesday in July when she was desperate to be more than a disembodied soul, walking up and down in her room simply because she couldn't think of anything else to do. _

_She couldn't look at the pictures that were still on the wall behind her desk, flashes of blond and blue taunted her. On her desk, the large pile of papers laid untouched and unmoved. The large CU at the top of each page screamed out to her whenever she walked into her room and yet she couldn't bring herself to move it away. She wondered if this was what it felt like to finally be an adult. Was this what the next four years were going to feel like? Was she going to spend four years in college being slowly gnawed to death by doubts? By too many feelings and too little feelings and never-ending fantasies of what could have been? _

_The brochures and acceptance letters and maps and pictures were still in the exact same spot where she'd left them a few weeks ago after she'd shown them to Brittany. She'd so very carefully worked out all of the details. They'd go to Boulder, they'd finally decided. Brittany liked the mountains, Santana liked that it was far enough for her to be able to breathe again. She'd shown Brittany the pictures of the University of Colorado Boulder campus that she'd printed out. She'd meticulously explained to her the differences between a BA and a BFA. That she could do either and major in dance. She'd worked out that Brittany could start in the second semester, printed out application forms, and looked at housing options. Brittany nodded while she explained everything and absentmindedly traced a finger over the letters on the top of the page. _

_Santana didn't quite understand how it was possible that a city that neither she nor Brittany had __ever __physically been to could be so filled with memories of Brittany. She wondered if her dorm room would smell of Brittany the way her room at home did. Would she walk around there and see her everywhere, too? She tried to console herself. It would be different, she told herself. It would be new and different and there would be no Brittany. Once she got there, she would finally stop dreaming of her and she would be sure that everything would be okay. She tried to convince herself that, in a few short months, she and Brittany would be happy, alone but happy, but somehow she wasn't able to really believe that. _

_The silence in her room finally drove her out of the house. It was only when she was already ten miles out of Lima that she finally felt like she could breathe again. For the first time since she had walked down the Pierces' driveway and driven away from Brittany almost two weeks ago she felt like she could breathe again, so she kept driving. Away from everyone who still hung around after graduation. Away from Quinn's nagging texts and Rachel Berry's annoying sing-along-barbeque invitations. Away from the CU confirmation letter on her desk. Away from where she'd begun to pack her things. Away from her mother's excitement and her father's proud glances. Away from her broken heart. From Brittany and where she broke Brittany's heart. From where Brittany broke her heart. _

_She drove until she reached Springfield, and to her surprise, found that the unfamiliarity of the streets made her heart feel slightly less heavy. There were no memories waiting around every corner to paralyze her body with guilt and regret and heartache. The streets were void of ghosts and she could breathe. It was as though the hands that were so desperately struggling to strangle her loosened a little and she could feel her body being alive, even if only for a short while. She liked the way that the shops seemed comfortingly new and how there was no possibility that she'd run into anyone familiar. She wandered around for hours, walked up and down the streets, sat inside a small diner drinking too much coffee and reading trashy magazines and waited until the sun had almost set before she drove back home. She did the same thing the next day. And the next. And the day after that. She drove to Dayton. And Marion. And Findlay. _

_She gave a slight nod when her mother asked if she had finished packing her things and shrugged when she asked why she came home late every night. She'd been late for dinner every night for more than a week, her mother said. She shrugged again. Her mother suggested that perhaps she'd be able to get home in time for dinner if she spent a little less time with Brittany. _

_She'd been procrastinating, dreading this moment. She'd said nothing about Brittany and the way her chest tightened every time she thought of her. It wasn't very difficult to keep it to herself. Her parents were mostly at work and she kept to herself, staying in her room. Perhaps if she had any more tears left, if she hated it less to cry when others could see, it would have been more evident that something was wrong, but she remained stubbornly stoic whenever anybody else was around. _

_She was quiet for a few seconds after her mother spoke, her heart twisting in her chest. "We broke up," she finally said softly and her mother's face remained unreadable. _

_When Santana walked out of the kitchen, she heard an audible sigh. It sounded like relief. _

_She smoked two cigarettes before she was even out of Lima and didn't stop to think until she was driving down the main street of Columbus. She walked up and down the streets slowly, no real purpose in mind. _

_There was a little book shop next to a bakery on one of the corners. She'd never particularly liked reading. She used to make fun of the kids who would read in the cafeteria during lunch. When a nerdy boy with big ears giggled because Brittany had trouble reading the word "vivacious" in middle school, she stole all of the books in his bag and hid them on the school's roof. Once she shredded one of Artie's Le Guin books into pieces and tried to flush it down a toilet at school. She got one of the freshmen Cheerios to fish out some of the remaining shredded pieces of paper and put the dripping wet mess in his bag. He looked like he might cry when he saw them and she laughed cruelly. (She hoped that he would cry and Brittany would laugh with her. Artie didn't cry and Brittany didn't laugh.) _

_She went inside the little shop nonetheless. It smelled old and musky and like the memory of Brittany bringing her an unwrapped anthology of poetry on a rainy afternoon. It made her want to run away but somehow her feet where planted to the floor, unable to move. She suddenly wished that she and Brittany had done this more. Driven somewhere new, where no one would know them, and browsed through strange little shops. If she could go back, she thought, if they could have done this more often, she would have held Brittany's hand as they walked along the streets. She would have kissed her more freely, not feeling shame when people saw them and not worrying if they might bump into someone they knew. She smiled wryly when she remembered how she'd naively thought that, once she was out of the closet and everyone knew, all the shame would disappear. _

_She glanced over the popular psychology section. Brittany would immediately have pointed at the self-help sex guides. Maybe she would have suggested that they buy Berry a copy and they would have laughed. She slowly walked up and down the rows of books, stopping occasionally to look at a title. Her eyes travelled over the many unfamiliar names as she dragged her hand across the backs of the books. __Achebe, Kazantzakis, Boccaccio, Camus, Borges, Chekhov, Kafka,Conrad, Dostoyevsky, Marquez, Kalidasa, Kawabata. She bent down on her knees and looked through a section that was merely marked _Poetry_. She could read some of the English and Spanish titles, but others were in foreign languages she didn't understand. Familiar letters strung together to form unfamiliar words. She picked up one of the titles that she could understand and slowly opened it. It had belonged to someone else she saw when she opened it on the first page. It had belonged to James. Looking at the back cover she remembered first opening the book Brittany had brought her and wondered if James knew what it felt like to be slowly strangled by invisible hands. More than anything else it was to avoid thinking about Brittany that she randomly opened the book near the end and started reading. _

I'm sorry but I have to go because

there's a bald woman screaming down my passageways like

the Edvard Munch painting

pressing hands against toothless cheeks.

She's something akin to me, as Rochester might have said.

_She looked around and saw a little stool that she pulled closer and sat down. Her chest heaved a little as she continued reading. _

And anyway I've lost the pegs – the line- we used to

hang this thing on.

For a while, after the loss of the pegs, I used the thorn

bush, but the fabric got shredded and

the wind blew away its remains. (In my brain, that teenage refrain:

Someone left the cake out in the rain.)

_She thought of Brittany and wondered if there was a precise moment that everything started to go wrong. She wondered if, had she known which moment it was exactly, she would have been able to do something. _

I'm sorry but I have to go because

I keep dreaming my letter box is full of old, damp and

stuck together envelopes

and that trapped in underground tunnels I have to sleep

with someone I hate

and can't touch someone I love (you)

_Wiping a tear from her cheek she looked across the aisle. She saw Brittany walking down the aisle, but she knew Brittany wasn't there. _

and that Rumpelstiltskin is shouting at me

and that my good teeth are falling out.

And that there is an explosive device near my front door.

_She slowly read through the poem again and, when she had finished, closed her eyes. She thought about Brittany and her parents and the letters on her desk and the tightening feeling around her chest. She thought about the way that CU was already haunted and how the WMHS sweater under her pillow – the last thing of Brittany's that she still had – smelt a little less like Brittany every day. She thought about all of this and she suspected that she really had to go. _

* * *

She heard an alarm that she didn't recognize as her own and turned around, groaning. A warm arm pulled her a little closer. She kept her eyes closed a little longer, allowing herself to just feel Brittany's naked skin against her own, breathing in her scent, listening to her rhythmic breathing.

When she finally opened her eyes Brittany was lying on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Hi," she said, smiling. She brought Santana's hand to her lips and kissed her fingers a few times before sitting up.

Santana groaned at the loss of contact. "Where are you going?" she asked sleepily, blinking her eyes a few times. She put a hand on Brittany's bare thigh. Goosebumps appeared underneath her fingers when she let her hand trail a little higher.

"I have to get up," Brittany sighed and leaned over to place a kiss on Santana's top lip. "Rehearsal starts in an hour."

"Don't go," Santana said, shaking her head. She linked their fingers and flung one of her legs over Brittany's as though to keep her in bed.

"I have to," Brittany repeated. She gently kissed Santana again.

"Don't," Santana said seriously. She pulled Brittany a little closer to her and rested her head against her chest. "Call and tell them that you had a heart attack or something."

"Santana …" Brittany took a shaky breath when Santana let a kiss linger on the top of one of her breasts.

"Okay, just …" she looked up into Brittany's eyes and wondered for a second how it was possible that they could be here, together. "Five more minutes?"

"Two more minutes." Brittany said and leaned back against the pillow.

"I wish we could just stay here, like this, all day," Santana sighed against Brittany's chest. Gently pulling her fingers through Santana's hair, Brittany just hummed in response.

"Come on," Brittany said a short while later, "I'm probably already going to be late." Santana reluctantly let go of her hand when Brittany got up from the bed. "Plus I usually get lost which means I have to leave, like, fifteen minutes early. I'll be back later though."

Santana let her eyes roam over Brittany's naked body where she stood near her desk and Brittany pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants too soon. "Where to?"

"Shower," Brittany said plainly and gestured in the direction of the door.

"I don't know, Britt ..." Santana sat up a little. Technically she couldn't see any reason why they shouldn't take a shower together. But still, she heard Rachel come in a little after two this morning and it seemed a little risky to be sneaking around the house half clothed.

Brittany turned around and walked back to the bed. "Come on, you're still a little sticky and we smell like sex." She climbed onto the bed and sat astride Santana before she continued, "Come take a shower with me." Santana groaned when she leaned closer and added a throaty, "Please?"

Santana reached up and pulled Brittany into a kiss before pushing her up. Quickly pulling on a pair of boxers and a sweater, she motioned for Brittany to follow her to the bathroom.

The cold tiles pressed against her chest and stomach when Brittany pushed up against her against the shower wall. She moaned when Brittany pushed away her hair and sucked on the skin at the crook of her neck.

"You have to be super quiet," Brittany whispered in her ear, sneaking an arm around her waist. Her fingers trailed up her stomach to cup one of her breasts.

"Fuck," Santana whispered.

Santana swallowed another moan when Brittany slipped a leg between thighs, nudging her legs apart. "I'm going to miss you today," Brittany said and let her hand slip downwards a little. Santana felt her legs buckle slightly.

"Do you want me to show you how much I'm going to miss you, Santana?" Brittany breathed and let her hand tease ever lower.

"Yeah-yes," Santana groaned, letting out an unsteady breath. She brought one of her hands up over her head, drawing Brittany closer.

"I love the way you feel," Brittany sighed when she finally let her hand slip in between Santana's thighs.

"God -" Santana swallowed her words as Brittany pushed a little harder. She wanted to moan when Brittany's body suddenly wasn't against hers anymore, but there was a high-pitched squeal and she turned around, a little bewildered. Her eyes flicked to where Brittany was now standing opposite her in the shower. A hint of a smile played around her mouth corners as she let out a soft "yikes".

"Santana, I'm so sorry," she heard Rachel stutter. "What are- Oh my god! Brittany?"

"Shalom, Rachel," Brittany said with a sigh as she turned the water down. She leaned against the shower wall and shrugged. Santana brought a hand to her mouth. Through the glass shower door she could only make out the outlines of Rachel's figure, which meant that Rachel likely could also only see their figures vaguely. Still, all of their clothes were lying on the floor and even Rachel would hopefully be able to guess that Brittany wouldn't sneak a random stranger into their shower.

"Oh my god, I just ..." Rachel stuttered again. Santana could hear her take a step back, it sounded as though she'd bumped into something. "I was merely -"

"Uhm, Rachel?" Brittany said, wrapping her arms around her body. "Do you think you could maybe ... you know ... like, leave? It's getting really cold in here."

"Of course, of course," Rachel suddenly sounded strangely composed. "I'll leave you to have your shower. I'll be in the living room, so just shout if you need anything," she said from the doorway.

"Get the fuck out!" Santana shouted, finally regaining control over her voice. She waited until she heard the door close behind Rachel before she moved away from the wall against which she'd been standing. "Fucking tiny obnoxious little dwarf!" she said as she climbed out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

"Come on, Santana," Brittany said softly, taking a towel herself. Except for the slight red tinge around her ears, she seemed rather unfazed by the past few minutes' events. "I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose."

"Well, I hope she's out there right now, dying of embarrassment!" Santana said angrily as she pulled a shirt over her head. She quickly pulled on a pair of boxers, but didn't bother with shoes.

"You shouldn't joke about things like that," Brittany frowned as she pulled a sweater over her head. "My second cousin nearly died of embarrassment back in 2002. He was in the hospital for, like, a month and he still gets shooting pains up and down his left arm whenever anyone mentions Boy George or the Grand Canyon."

"But why the fuck didn't she knock? Why would a person not do that?" Santana wasn't sure if she was feeling anger or embarrassment, or perhaps a little of both. She threw her hands in the air. "Seriously, has she not yet developed the ability to make her fist into a ball and lightly tap it against a door like a normal human being?"

"Maybe she hasn't," Brittany shrugged, "I don't know."

Santana opened the bathroom door forcefully. She had silently hoped that Rachel would have been smart enough to flee, but, alas, a wide-eyed Rachel was sitting on the couch in the living room.

"I see that once again you haven't slept on the couch, Brittany," Rachel said to Brittany who was standing a few feet behind Santana. She gave a light chuckle, seemingly trying to indicate that she was joking.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Santana called out and gave a few threatening steps towards her. She stopped when she felt Brittany's hand on her shoulder, but continued to throw deathly stares in Rachel's direction.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..." Rachel began as she stood up from the couch. Her eyes nervously travelled from Santana to Brittany and then back to Santana.

"Where you born in a fucking cave?" Santana continued. In all honesty she couldn't remember ever being this angry with Rachel before. It was the kind of guilt-induced anger that she'd mostly only ever experienced in her teens, usually when someone had accused her of having feelings for Brittany. "Why don't you fucking knock?"

"I did knock, you didn't answer!" Rachel said quickly, nodding her head. "And I was scheduled to take a shower now, so I thought -"

"You were scheduled to take a shower? Are we in the fucking military?" Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel, who was wringing her hands together nervously and constantly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Would you stop hopping around like a giant fucking cricket and explain to me what the fuck you're talking about."

"I was supposed to take a shower now; it is part of my moon cleansing cycle. It says so on the schedule," Rachel said. Now that they'd established that she had knocked before entering, she seemed a little more confident. "I left the schedule on the bathroom door for you. And I made a note on the kitchen calendar to remind you to check the schedule. And I left a note on your desk to remind you to check the calendar." She moved towards the bathroom door and pointed towards the laminated poster that Santana had never really read through. "See, here it says Rachel: Saturday, 6:15. Is it really that difficult for you to read and understand?"

"Difficult to understand?" Santana shouted and Rachel slowly moved backward again. Rachel gave a nervous glance over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen and, supposedly, the knife holder. "Asks the person who seemingly has the inability to execute even the simplest gestures, such as knocking. Or the ability to hear the shower running in the bathroom."

"I did knock," Rachel said with an adamant shake of her head, "but apparently you and Brittany were too busy doing god knows what-"

"We were having sex," Brittany said casually and Santana whipped her head back to see Brittany sitting on the armrest of one of the living room chairs.

"-to even hear." Rachel finished her sentence slowly.

"Yeah, well," Santana said a little uncomfortably, "normally when you knock and nobody answers, that means don't come in. Or fucking knock louder or something." She pulled at her boxers, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed by Brittany's blatant explanation as to what they were doing. She watched Rachel move back to the couch and sit down again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel finally asked in a soft voice. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You never asked," Brittany offered. There was a soft knock on the door that all of them ignored.

"Rachel," Santana began with a sigh, "we wanted to say something, I just ..." She searched for the right words. "We were waiting for the right time. We were going to tell you this weekend. And it's not like we eloped or something. We went on a few dates."

"Dates?" Rachel asked confused. "Is that why Brittany hasn't been sleeping here? On the couch? Has she been sleeping with you?"

"Okay, just fucking relax!" Santana felt her cheeks flush again. "Two nights, she slept in my bed for two nights. Not that I see how it's any of your business."

"I thought we were friends," Rachel frowned and stared at Santana with a hurt look on her face. There was another knock.

"We _are_ friends!" Santana called out and threw her hands in the air. "Look, could you just stop with the drama for one minute and listen to what I'm trying to tell you?" She stared at Rachel for a second until her attention was drawn by another knock. "For god's sakes, Kurt, just let yourself in!" she finally yelled in the direction of the door.

"How did you know it was him?" Brittany whispered when Kurt appeared in the living room a few seconds later, holding a cup of coffee and a large floral patterned umbrella. Santana was almost one hundred percent sure she'd seen his outfit before, when they'd rented _Memoirs of a Geisha. _

Santana cursed and sat down on the chair next to Brittany. "Because he knocks like an actual real life fairy and nobody else would be as obnoxious as to show up unannounced at this time in the morning."

"Actually, Santana," Kurt said and flicked back a strand of hair, "I'll have you know that I've not showed up unannounced, as you've so rudely implied. Rachel invited me to go down to the park with her. Someone is teaching early morning self-defense classes and we thought that we'd give it a try."

"That's just splendid!" Santana called sarcastically and clapped her hands together. She turned her head back in Rachel's direction. "What are you waiting for, Daniel-Son? You don't wanna be late, chop-chop!"

"I'm not going to leave until we've finished discussing this issue, Santana," Rachel said seriously. She folded her hands and straightened her back.

"And why is it an _issue_?" Santana rolled her eyes and watched as Kurt sat down next to Rachel with a confused expression on his face. "God, I still don't see how this is any of your business."

Kurt raised one of his hands as though he was trying to get a teacher's attention. "Anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Well," Rachel cleared her throat, "it seems that Santana and Brittany have been … well …" she threw Santana and Brittany an obnoxious look and sat up even straighter, "_seeing _each other, if you understand what I mean, right under our noses."

"And you choose to tell her this before eight on a Saturday morning?" Kurt clicked his tongue loudly and shook his head a little.

"Not exactly," Rachel said and shot Santana and Brittany another look, "I'd ... uhm ... well, let's just say that I found them in a rather compromising position."

Kurt slammed his open palms onto his knees and laughed loudly. "Oh, this is marvelous," he choked out, "it's like the good Lord himself came down and blessed this morning with this little gift." Santana narrowed her eyes at him, but Kurt seemed unbothered. "This is so going to make up for the time Santana told that cute guy at the jewelers' store that my testicles had to be removed because my skinny jeans had cut off the blood flow. I want to know everything! Every single dirty detail! Where they really loud? Did Brittany top? I've always thought that Brittany would top Santana," he babbled excitedly.

"Actually we were standing," Brittany said bluntly and stood up from the arm rest.

"I swear to God, Kurt Hummel, if you value whatever it is that you hide in those ridiculous designer underwear of yours, you'd shut up this very second and not speak unless spoken to ever again," Santana said angrily.

"No need to turn to violence, Santana, I was just asking a few simple questions," Kurt said with a smug smile, "But seriously, all jokes aside, Rachel knows now?" Santana sighed and nodded. Kurt gave a delighted squeal and waved a hand in Brittany and Santana's direction. "Thank god! Now go away so we can talk about you."

"Actually, I kind of have to go get ready anyway," Brittany said and gestured towards the closet where she kept her clothes. "But don't talk about us while I'm not here, 'cause if I'm not here to stop her, Santana might try to cut you."

Santana watched Brittany grab some clothes from the closet and disappear into the bathroom before she looked back over to where Rachel and Kurt were sitting. Rachel seemed to be staring at Kurt with a blank expression.

"Wait, you knew?" Rachel asked in disbelief. "You knew and you didn't tell me anything." She looked up at Kurt and started to sob. "Why, Kurt, why?"

Kurt sighed and put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Rachel, it's not like I didn't want to tell you – I've been dying to talk to you about this! But I promised them I wouldn't say anything."

Rachel sniffled loudly and blinked a few times before she spoke. "Well, if that is the case, then so be it. I won't tell you anything either."

"We'd actually appreciate that," Santana said as she pulled her legs onto the chair. She was thankful that, at least for the moment, Kurt and Rachel's exchange was drawing their attention away from the morning's events and any further discussion thereof.

"Fine!" Rachel jumped up from the couch and folded her hands over her chest. "Then I won't tell you that Chris from the library has commissioned a second run for _Sandy Sun _and that I might be co-producing it. And I won't tell you that Mrs. Silverman said that there might be a bigger apartment available next year in the building across the street. And I certainly won't tell you that Finn is coming to the city next weekend and he asked if we could go to dinner."

"He what?" Santana and Kurt asked simultaneously.

"He asked me to dinner," Rachel said. She had a smug look on her face that told Santana that she'd been holding out on sharing this bit of information on purpose. That she'd been waiting for an appropriate time, when it would have optimal dramatic effect. "But I won't be telling you any of these things, because, apparently, we don't share things among friends anymore."

"Wow, Rachel," Brittany said as she stepped out of the bathroom and walked over to grab her bag from next to the couch, "you know that I don't use foul language often, but I'm just going to tell you like it is: that's just stupid."

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked, a little taken aback. She dramatically flung a hand to her chest. Santana had the distinct feeling that Rachel was actually enjoying all of the drama that the morning had brought about.

"Dating Finn, it's a stupid idea. I have to go now," Brittany said, more to Santana than the other two.

"Sure," Santana said, jumping up from the chair. "So I'll see you later this afternoon?"

"I'll text you," Brittany said with a soft smile. She hesitated for a second - looking over to where Kurt and Rachel were staring at them wide eyed – before she leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Santana's lips. For a second Santana didn't care that Rachel and Kurt were there, staring, or that Kurt was likely going to use the information that he would soon drag out of Rachel to blackmail her for the rest of her life. She was, however, soon brought back to reality by Kurt's high-pitched, "Aren't they adorable?"

Santana saw a faint blush creep up Brittany's neck and cheeks as she pulled away. "Bye guys," she called to Rachel and Kurt as she left the apartment.

"Shut the fuck up," Santana said to Kurt and Rachel as soon as Brittany had left. Kurt merely shrugged and winked at her.

"Well," Rachel said once Brittany had left, a bitter tone coating her voice, "I suppose that, under different circumstances, the three of us could have talked about all of the events that have obviously transpired over the last couple of weeks, but since we are not the type of friends who tell each other things I suppose there is no need for that. I'll just have to accept that I'm going to spend the rest of my life without hearing anything or seeing anything or knowing anything about anyone. I'll be like a real life Helen Keller."

"Actually Helen Keller already was the real life Helen Keller," Kurt commented.

"Berry, come on!" Santana sighed, deciding to take Rachel's bait and indulge her a little. "We talk all the time. Yesterday I went to see that messed up play about the needles and pins with you. The day before that I told you how much I think veganism sucks and I sang the last verse of _I Have a Dream _with you. And just last week we talked about how clingy and desperate Kurt gets when he's single."

"You said what?" Kurt asked alarmed, looking up from where he was straightening the broach on his lapel.

"Oh come on, Hummel," Santana dismissed him with a wave, "you know it's true. You're like one of those puppies at the pound, following around everybody who even just glances in your direction and making weird high-pitched whelping sounds." She turned back to Rachel and shrugged. "And, to be fair, I tried to tell you about me and Brittany, Rachel, but you kept going on about IQs of the soul and shit. And then I got nervous and drunk and I forgot what I was supposed to be telling you."

"Well, I suppose that you have always struggled when it came to matters of the heart and you've never been very articulate with regard to your feelings and emotions, Santana," Rachel said seriously.

"Ladies," Kurt cleared his throat, "as much as I hate to have to interrupt what I'm sure would have been the most fascinating analysis of Santana's lacking emotional capacity, I'm afraid if we don't leave now we'll miss the self-defense class."

Rachel shook her head violently. "No, no," she said, "I'm afraid I won't be able to go, Kurt. I haven't washed my hair yet – certain members of this household refuse to keep to the shower schedule - and I simply can't risk the paparazzi getting a shot of me without any make up."

Santana bit back the urge to ask if Rachel had ever been photographed by any paparazzi and silently watched as disappointment washed over Kurt's face. "Is he cute?" she asked. Kurt gave her a puzzled look. "The self-defense guy, is he cute?" she asked again.  
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Santana," Kurt lied. He was such a bad liar, Santana thought to herself.

"I hope that he's at least cute, with you dragging poor Berry all the way to the park before the sun is even properly up," Santana said with a smirk. "You should just go alone, you know."

"Well," Kurt said and pulled at his outfit, "our neighborhood has been increasingly becoming crime ridden. Perhaps I could go and then show you the techniques later, Rachel?"

Rachel just nodded as Kurt excitedly ran out of the apartment with the promise of showing them both how to disarm violent attackers later.

"Rachel," Santana eventually broke the silence, "I really was going to tell you."

"I know," Rachel said softly.

"I was just scared that you might be freaked out or feel uncomfortable," Santana tried again.

Rachel looked up and smiled at Santana. "I just want you to be happy," she shrugged. "And although I'll admit to having the slightest reservations about this relationship, if it makes you happy then I'll respect that."

"Thank you," she smiled.

"I'm going to come over and hug you now," Rachel said as she got up and walked over to where Santana was standing.

"Just make it quick," Santana said. She pulled Rachel into a hug regardless, hugging her closely and even smiling faintly when Rachel let out a dramatic sob against her shoulder.

* * *

Santana met Brittany at the subway after her rehearsal. She smiled when she noticed Brittany walking a little faster once she saw her waiting. They slowly walked back to the apartment building, stopping in front of window displays and browsing through some of the shops on their way back. Every now and then Brittany would pull on Santana's coat to get her attention and point towards someone who she thought was definitely a KGB agent - Brittany seemed convinced that the city was full of KGB agents. Santana just laughed and bumped their hips together lightly as they walked. She pulled Brittany into the coffee place a block or so from their apartment. Standing close to Brittany Santana looked around the place, trying to see if there was anyone she knew around. She glanced over to where Brittany was standing next to her, almost wishing that they'd run into someone she knew, just so that they could see that Brittany was with her. Brittany was here and she was with her.

"Rachel texted me this morning after I left for rehearsal," Brittany said casually as they walked out of the coffee place. She took the lid off her latte and took a sip.

"Yeah?" Santana frowned slightly. She took a sip of her coffee and looked over to Brittany. "She didn't mention anything to me. What did she want?"

"She wants us to have coffee some time," Brittany shrugged and pointed towards a bench. It was the same bench they had sat on a couple of months ago, talking awkwardly. "You wanna sit down?"

Santana just nodded and sat down. "Why?"

Brittany sighed and leaned against the bench's backrest. "She wants to talk to me about my _intentions_ with you," she said, widening her eyes a little.

"Your intentions?" Santana called out loudly. An old lady walking past them shot her a disapproving look. "God!"

"Yeah," Brittany chewed her bottom lip and seemed to be deep in thought for a few seconds. "She sounded super serious. I kinda feel like she might bring a shotgun or something."

"She's so fucking crazy," Santana muttered with a shake of her head. She turned to Brittany, "What did you tell her?"

"I said that we could talk the weekend after next." Brittany wiped a little foam from her top lip and shrugged again. "Or she could call me if she was really desperate. She was really formal though. "'Said that she needed me to understand that there would be "consequences" if I hurt you …" she said, using her free hand to make air quotations.

"What the fuck?" Even after all of these years Rachel's antics still sometimes rendered Santana speechless. "Urgh," she groaned, "don't worry, I'll talk to her. She gets a little protective of me sometimes. I think she might have some kind of mother complex or something."

"I suppose it makes sense," Brittany gave a little chuckle.

"I'll talk to her," Santana offered, putting her hand on top of Brittany's.

"It's kinda funny if you think about it though," Brittany said after a while. She chuckled again. "Does she … uhm … I mean, in the past," she carefully weighed her words this time, "Has she done this with any other girls you've dated?"

Santana took a sharp breath. For some reason she hated the idea that Brittany would wonder about the women she'd dated. She also hated that it made her mind conjure all sorts of images of Brittany with somebody else. She knew that they had to go there eventually, but for now she preferred not knowing anything. "No, no. God, no," she quickly said and took a deep breath. "I mean, I haven't really been … I mean, I've obviously dated people, because well," she knew that she was making little sense, but Brittany was staring at her with an amused smile. "I've dated people, but as a general rule of thumb I've always tried to keep my ... uhm ... you know, the girls, women ..." God, she was just making this worse. "I've just found that it's never a good idea to introduce Rachel to, you know, girlfriend type people." Brittany gave an amused nod and Santana quickly went on, "Not that I've really had, you know, I haven't really had many ... but ... I just ... I ... I mean, I have ... But you've also dated people, right?" She asked, hoping that Brittany might say something and that she could then stop her incoherent babbling. But Brittany said nothing, so Santana tried again, "You've dated people. Girls or guys or whatever, haven't you? So I've dated and you've dated people."

Brittany raised her eyebrows a little. "I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at, but I don't have any STDs, if that's what you're asking," she said seriously.

"What?" Santana shook her head furiously. She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks. "No-no-no," she stuttered, "I just- I'm glad that you're dating me now. And I'm sorry about Rachel. I'll talk to her."

"Don't worry about it," Brittany said. "I'm sure I can handle Rachel. I'll just tell her we can have coffee whenever and talk about my intentions."

Santana looked at her feet. She waited a few seconds before she finally, bashfully, asked, "And what are your intentions?"

"I don't know?" Brittany said. She brought a hand to her chin and pretended to think for a moment. "I was thinking maybe kidnap you, lock you in my car's trunk for a couple of hours, maybe smuggle you over the Mexican border. You know," she paused to take another sip of her latte, "regular stuff like that."

"Totally," Santana laughed and watched as Brittany attempted to throw her empty cup into the trashcan a few feet away without getting up. She missed and the cup fell to the ground. "Just remember to leave a straw or something for me to breathe through."

"Would you give me some credit?" Brittany asked over her shoulder as she picked up the cup from the ground and put it in the trashcan.

"My bad," Santana held up her hands apologetically. "Of course you'd remember the straw." She watched as Brittany walked back and sat down next to her. She studied her face for a few seconds, a content smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "You know," she eventually said, "this is all I ever wanted. It's how I'd always imagined it."

"For me to smuggle you over a border in the trunk of my car?" Brittany frowned.

"No," Santana shook her head. "For us to be together like this. Somewhere new. Somewhere we can just be together and not have to worry about everyone else's shit. Just the two of us. Happy. I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy," Brittany said softly. "So happy." Her eyes darted towards the passers-by before she leaned forward and quickly placed a kiss on Santana's lips. She smiled shyly and looked to her hands. "Is this okay?" she asked, sounding a little unsure.

"Of course," Santana wasn't sure why Brittany would ever think that it wasn't okay for them to kiss. "Britt, you don't have to ask permission to kiss me."

"Yeah, no, I know," she said and sighed. She wrung her hands together and her eyes followed the people walking by. "It's just that we're in public and I didn't know..." She paused and looked at Santana as though she expected Santana to understand what she was trying to say.

Santana look at her with incomprehension. "Didn't know what?"

"I just wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with us kissing when, you know ..." her eyes flicked to the people walking past again, "where everybody can see," she finished.

Santana closed her eyes for a moment. Of course Brittany would be unsure of whether she'd be okay with them kissing in public. The last time Brittany had tried to kiss her in public was in January of their senior year. Santana had bought her sea monkeys as a late Christmas gift and Brittany leaned over to kiss her in front of the pretzel stand in the mall. Santana had pulled away. She didn't mean to – she never meant to – but she turned her head and pulled away. Drawing her jacket a little closer to her body – she only noticed that was she was shivering a little - opened her eyes and swallowed. "You can kiss me wherever and whenever you like," she said and watched as a smile washed over Brittany's face.

"That sounds really awesome," Brittany said, shifting a little closer to Santana and resting a hand on her leg.

"Hey," Santana said as she suddenly remembered, "I was thinking that maybe we could do something with Rachel tonight."

"Okay," Brittany slowly nodded. "Why?"

"Just – you know," Santana paused and tried to think how she could explain to Brittany that she actually felt guilty about hurting Rachel's feelings. And that she wanted to do something to show her that she's sorry without actually having to _say_ that she's sorry. "It might stop her from complaining about how she's all alone in life and how nobody ever tells her anything. Maybe I could make us all dinner or something. Not that it really matters, it's not like I really care."

"Sure you do," Brittany said with a knowing smile.

"No, I don't," Santana insisted. Brittany pursed her lips together and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I care a little. But just, like, this much," Santana said, using her thumb and forefinger to gesture how little she cared. "And since Rachel's seemingly going all Papa Bear on you I might as well do the daughterly thing and arrange a family dinner."

"It's like meeting the parents all over again. Except, well, I think Rachel actually sorta likes me." As soon as the words had left Brittany's mouth her eyes widened a little as though she suddenly realized that it might not have been the smartest thing to say. "I just mean ..." she started again, but Santana shook her head, trying to tell her that it's okay. Brittany's mouth curved into a small smile, but her eyes seemed sad and her attention elsewhere.

"I'm sorry, Britt," she said softly, trying to catch Brittany's eye.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Brittany said with a wave of her hand. She shook her head and took Santana's hand into her own. "So I was thinking that I might get Rachel one of those _Meat is Murder_ shirts to apologize for almost having sex in her shower, but I think that making her dinner might be a better idea. She'll like the attention. Also, I imagine vegans don't get invited to a lot of dinner parties, 'cause nobody likes to feed people who only eat carrots."

"Well, it's my shower, too," Santana said with a roll of her eyes. "And actually you'd be surprised at how many pretentious hipsters hang around these parts and they all love to flaunt their veganism. Maybe you could get flowers or a bottle of that disgusting organic wine that they sell at the deli on 9th?"

"I could do that," Brittany contemplated. "I liked the shirt though, so maybe I'll just get her that as an early Christmas gift and then pick up a bottle of wine or something. Should we invite Kurt?"

"Urgh," Santana groaned and her shoulders slumped a bit, "we could, but then, when Rachel wants to perform some random act from _Phantom of the Opera _we'll be two against two. If we don't invite Kurt we'll be two against one, so ..."

"But why would we want to outvote Rachel?" Brittany asked in surprise. "I love _Phantom_!"

"But it's Rachel!" Santana protested. "Last year she held a Fourth of July dinner which ended in an impromptu performance of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ on the rooftop of the building across the street_._"

"That sounds awesome!" Brittany scrunched her nose a little.

Santana knew that she would eventually lose, but decided to at least try a little while longer. "That's only because you weren't here to witness Kurt and Rachel forcing me into doing it with them." Brittany bowed her head down a little and her shoulders shook with laughter. "It's not funny! And then Kurt loved me so much as Esmeralda that he hid my straightener and I was forced to walk around looking like something that escaped from an 80's rock band for nearly a week." Santana pulled a face of the memory of having had to go around with her naturally curly hair. Brittany had stopped laughing and was now just staring at her, smiling. "What?" Santana demanded.

Brittany brought their linked hands to her mouth and gently kissed the palm of Santana's hand. "You're cute," she said.

"What?"

"You're cute," Brittany repeated, "pretending that you hate singing and hanging out with those guys."

"No," Santana said with a definite shake of her head, "I actually hate it!"

"Santana," Brittany drew out the last vowels, "Of course you don't hate it! You love it! And you love pretending that you don't like it and getting them to beg you to do it, just like you love pretending that you hate Rachel when, for reasons that I totally don't get, she seems to be your best friend. So come on," Brittany pointed her head in the direction of Santana's bag, "phone and ask them if they're free tonight."

Santana shifted around uncomfortably, avoiding Brittany's gaze. With a loud sigh she finally relented. "Fine, but only because you asked me to!" she said, pulling her phone from her bag.

"Bonjour, mon amour," Kurt answered after the fourth ring.

"You don't even speak French and I'm pretty sure that doesn't even mean anything remotely logical!" she shouted into the mouthpiece. "How is it possible for so much flamboyance to fit into such a little twig figure?" Santana could hear some or other show tune playing in the background which meant that Rachel was likely with him.

"I'm sorry, but who is this?" Kurt asked, feigning ignorance.

"Tolkien," Santana replied. "Is the hobbit there?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Rachel is standing right next to me. Unless you were actually referring to Elijah Wood," Kurt sighed dramatically, "in which case I'm sad to say I have no idea where he is."

"Whatever." Santana looked over to Brittany who's gesturing excitedly. Santana wasn't sure what Brittany was trying to communicate, but presumably she wanted Santana to ask Kurt about dinner. "So listen," she went on, "Britts and I were wondering if you guys wanna have dinner with us tonight? I'll cook."

"Well," Kurt said, sounding delighted, "my schedule certainly always has space for an evening with friends. Just a second, I'll ask Rachel." Kurt seemingly wasn't bothered to walk over to wherever Rachel was, because Santana hear him calling out loudly, "The lesbians want to know if we want to have dinner with them tonight?

"Which lesbians?" Santana heard Rachel calling back.

"Portia and Ellen," Kurt said dryly.

"Really?" Rachel asked excitedly and Santana rolled her eyes.

"God, no, Rachel!" Kurt said. Santana could hear muffled steps before she spoke again, "Santana and Brittany."

Rachel must have gestured a reply, because the next thing Santana heard was Kurt speaking into the phone again. "We'd love to join you," he said.

"Okay." She was regretting this evening before it had even started. "So we'll see you at, like, eight," she said and ended the call before Kurt could engage her in any further conversation. "They're coming over at eight," she said to Brittany, although she was sure that Brittany must have deduced that. Brittany punched the air in front of her and, had it been anyone else Santana would have thought that it was the lamest thing ever, but because it was Brittany she thought it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. "You wanna go get stuff for dinner?" she asked, catching Brittany's fist in the air and drawing it into her lap.

"In a minute," Brittany said. "Let's just stay here." She shuffled a little closer to Santana until their legs were touching and then rested her head on Santana's shoulder. "Let's just stay a little while longer."

* * *

_She thought about it for about a week before she said anything. She waited patiently, feeling a little more confident about it every day. She thought about it every day while she drove to strange towns and cities and wandered through random shops. As she went over the plan in her head, she felt the tight string around her heart loosen somewhat. The thought of being elsewhere, starting anew, suddenly seemed more appealing than ever. She imagined how she'd be able walk and breathe and sleep. She imagined how she might actually be able to live and it made her heart a little less heavy._

_She looked over to her desk where she still hadn't moved anything. Letters, notes, photos haunted her. Taunted her. She sank to her bed and in her head went over all of the places that she and Brittany considered going to. She wondered if it was naive of her to believe that they'd actually live in these places one day. That they'd be able to get away. Away from Lima and actually be happy. Together. In her head she heard her mother's voice, warning, cautioning, begging. _

_A familiar feeling crept up under her skin as she thought about her family. Shame. Anger. Desperation even. She pulled out the book she'd bought in Columbus the week before. She'd put it under her pillow, next to Brittany's sweater. _

_(God, the sweater that she prayed would forever smell and feel like Brittany but that felt less like Brittany as each day passed.) _

_She opened the book and started reading a few verses down. _

I'm sorry but I have to go because

you've made me speak allusively about things that are absolutely real,

like compass points – no, not LIKE anything at all – the things themselves.

I said, 'This is how I feel', and you said, 'No, you don't.'

_She thought about the way her parents were suddenly able to make alternative living arrangements for her now that she wouldn't be living with Brittany anymore. She thought about how carefully she'd looked through housing options and how excited she was, thinking about how they might decorate the place once they got there. _

_The fingers around her throat closed tighter than ever. _

I'm sorry but I have to go because

You make me feel ugly, hysterical, mad and powerless.

_She remembered every conversation, every argument. She refused to consider if this, this thing__with Brittany, meant that they'd been right all along. Had she just been too stubborn tosee that? Could Brittany, her__Brittany, really have been as wrong for her as they said? _

_She swallowed hard, willing away strong fingers that were silently killing her, and remembered the way, when they were alone; Brittany made her feel as though there was nothing to be ashamed about. The way Brittany laughed and held her and kissed her. _

_And then she remembered how all of that was gone now and nobody stopped to ask if she was okay. _

I have to go because, when I unclench my teeth,

I release a thousand curses upon your domestic happiness,

and I'm not sorry.

_She closed her eyes and leaned back against her door. And she knew that she had to go._

* * *

_"I'm sorry but I have to go because" by Finaula Dowling from__ I Flying. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

They sat around the living room. Rachel, perched on the edge of one of the chairs, was gesturing animatedly as she spoke about the genius of Tim Rice. On the couch, Kurt, decked out in a pinstriped three piece suit, was stretched out, his feet lightly resting on the coffee table. Brittany was leaning back in the remaining chair, Santana sitting on a scatter cushion between Brittany's legs on the floor. Between empty plates and a couple of wine glasses, a half empty bottle of red wine – the disgusting organic wine from the deli on 9th – stood on the coffee table.

Santana and Brittany had spent most of their afternoon in the deli. Since she was still feeling a little guilty, Santana felt that she'd make an exception to her standard if-you're-a-vegan-you-have-to-bring-your-own-food-to-dinner-parties rule. So she spent some time going through recipes – she was horrified, quite frankly, about some of the disgusting things she learnt vegans ate – before finally deciding on pasta. She and Brittany walked up and down the aisles, taking more time than was necessary mostly because Santana liked sharing a cart and feeling like a grown up couple, and carefully selecting all of the ingredients. Brittany insisted that, to show solidarity with Rachel, they get organic wine only. Santana tried to argue that, since it was Rachel's own choice to live on a diet that Santana felt was mainly suitable for exotic birds, there was no need for solidarity, but Brittany was adamant.

They had barely sat down after getting home before Brittany jumped up again, announcing that they had forgotten about dessert. Before she could say anything Brittany had run out of the apartment, yelling over her shoulder that she'd be right back. Santana said nothing when she returned half an hour later with a cake that said _Happy 8__th__ Birthday, Sally_ in pink icing.

"Do you want dessert?" Santana took her chance when Rachel stopped her narration of Tim Rice's childhood for a second to take a sip of ice tea. To Brittany's great disappointment Rachel had insisted throughout the evening that she could only drink ice tea. Brittany offered to pour her wine a few times, but every time Rachel politely declined and launched into a detailed explanation about the importance of soothing her vocal chords with tea, honey, and an herbal mix she bought from the man living in apartment 209.

"Dessert?" Santana repeated, looking from Rachel to Kurt. She hoped that dessert might distract Rachel from reciting every fact, myth and anecdote that she's ever heard about the man. As soon as Rachel had finished with Tim Rice she'd probably move on to Andrew Lloyd Weber and once she did that, Santana knew, anybody else was unlikely to get another word in before midnight.

"Wine from actual wine glasses and now dessert?" Kurt exclaimed as he crossed his legs and pulled at his tie. "My god, Martha Stewart, it's like a real life dinner party!"

Santana shot him a look as she got up. Taking a last sip of wine she set her empty glass on the table. "We're not fucking savages!" she said adamantly.

"I wouldn't say that with too much confidence, Santana," Rachel interjected, shuddering. "I still regularly have nightmares about that time that you invited those two boys over-"

Kurt let out a squeal. "Wait! Santana invited boys over?" he asked with an amused smirk.

"Yes," Rachel continued seriously, "those two boys who go to school with Santana. You know them, Kurt." She looked at Kurt as though she was waiting for some sort of admission. When he only shook his head in confusion she went on. "The boys with the long dirty hair who always wear those Che Guevara shirts."

"Oh, those two ..." Kurt said, nodding slowly.

"Yes," Rachel pointed towards an annoyed looking Santana. "Santana invited them over and served raw animals for dinner," she said, placing emphasis on every word she spoke. She was quiet for a second and shuddered again, shaking her head viciously. "It really was nothing short of barbaric."

"We had sushi!" Santana exclaimed, but Rachel's expression remained unchanged. "Which I might add," Santana added as she quickly glanced over to Brittany who was watching the exchange with a half-smile, "I fucking made from scratch!"

"Regardless," Rachel insisted, straightening out her dress over her knees and turning her head back to where Kurt was sitting, "it was terrible and I couldn't come near the kitchen for three days."

"What a goddamn tragedy," Santana said with a roll of her eyes. "Do you want dessert or should I just go ahead and give it to Mrs. Carey as an early Christmas gift?"

"Dessert sounds lovely, Santana," Kurt said, pouring himself another glass of wine.

Rachel simply nodded as she took another sip of her ice tea. Santana rolled her eyes as she walked out, stopping only for a millisecond to smile when Brittany threw her a wink.

"I am absolutely sure that it is 1976," Santana heard Kurt saying, his voice even more high pitched than usual, as she walked back into the living room, balancing the cake in one hand and four plates in the other.

Rachel, who was now seated next to Kurt on the couch, bobbed up and down excitedly. She banged her hand on the armrest next to her. "You're mistaken," she said and ignored the slight shake of Kurt head. "It was 1978, the same year that Evita debuted on the West End. I specifically remember because, musically, 1978 was a groundbreaking year in terms of social and political boundaries."

"That makes no sense, Rachel," Kurt threw his hands in the air, "_La Cage aux Folles _isn't even a musical. I still think it was 1976. Didn't Steve say-"

"What seems to be the problem here, girls?" Santana interrupted him. She put the dessert and plates on the coffee table and squeezed in between Kurt and Rachel. She threw Brittany a quick wink as she put one arm around Kurt's shoulders and quickly patted the top of Rachel's head. "Tell your Auntie Tana here, I'm sure I'll be able to sort it right out," she said with a faux sympathetic crease of her brow.

"Well," Rachel started explaining, "Kurt is, mistakenly I might add, under the impression that _La Cage aux Folles_ was released in 1976. I tried to explain to him that it was in fact only released in 1978 and the English adaptation _The Birdcage_ in 1996, but – again for reasons that are known to nobody but himself – he refuses to accept that he is wrong and I am right."

"That is because I am right and you are wrong, Rachel," Kurt said, jumping off the couch. "_La Cage aux Folles_ first hit the big screen in 1976."

Santana rolled her eyes as she knelt in front of the coffee table and handed a slice of cake to Kurt and Rachel. Her heart gave a little jump when she handed Brittany a plate and Brittany mouthed _thank you_, adding a seductive wink.

She turned back to Kurt and Rachel. "Okay, first of all," she started, "both of you need to stop trying to sound as though you actually speak French 'cause you sound lame and pretentious_. _And second, shouldn't Rachel know when it came out? I mean, they made that film about your dads, didn't they?"

"I'm flattered, Santana," Rachel said, seemingly unable to detect the sarcasm in Santana's voice, "but no, it wasn't based on my dads' biographies, although I will say, it does show some interesting and remarkable parallels to their lives." Rachel paused, sighing. "However, despite the unfortunate fact that there is yet to be a film made about the Berries, I am still certain that it is 1978."

"I think-" Kurt started again.

"No, she's right," Brittany interjected. She licked a piece of icing from her finger and then went on, "It was 1978. You can Google it if you don't believe me."

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked suspiciously while Rachel was already busy taking out her phone.

"Positive." Brittany shrugged. "It was released in 1978, everybody knows that."

"Well, it seems that I, and therefore also Brittany," Rachel said, nodding in Brittany's direction, "was correct. According to Wikipedia '_La Cage aux Folles_ is a 1978 French-Italian film adaptation of the 1973 play _La Cage aux Folles_ by Jean Poiret…."'

Kurt grunted loudly and sank back into the couch. "Well, excuse me Miss I've-memorized-every-musical-ever-to-be-written-and-performed."

Ignoring Kurt's scoff, Rachel suddenly jumped up from her seat on the couch. "I would like to propose a toast," she said and raised her juice glass in front of her.

"Are you sure you don't want any wine, Rachel?" Brittany tried once more.

"Vocal chords," Rachel simply said and pointed a finger towards her throat. Santana saw Brittany slump back into her chair with a slight sigh and made a mental note to have a little talk with Rachel later. She tried to catch Rachel's eye, but Rachel only cleared her throat and continued, "I would like to propose a toast. Several months ago we welcomed an old friend and lover-"

"God, Berry!" Santana shouted, looking over to Brittany with an apologetic expression. Brittany seemed pretty content however, watching Rachel, a hint of a smile playing around her mouth corners.

Rachel ignored Santana's outcry and raised her glass a little higher. "We welcomed Brittany back into our lives. And tonight we are here to celebrate love and the coming together-"

Santana covered her face with her hands. "Love, lover, coming," she said as Rachel looked at her with incomprehension. Brittany giggled behind her and she felt a hand sliding down her back. "Come on, you don't seriously expect us to just sit here and ignore your wanky-ness, do you?"

Kurt gave a nervous squeal and jumped up from the couch again, standing next to Rachel. "To old and new relationships," he said, tipping his wine glass to where Brittany and Santana were sitting.

"Cheers," Rachel said with a disheartened smile. She looked as though, just for a second, she was contemplating whether or not she ought to finish her toast, but finally let out a loud sigh and took a large sip of her iced tea.

Santana watched Brittany put her empty plate on the coffee table when she heard a loud knock on the door. She frowned as she questioningly looked over to Kurt and Rachel. Rachel tilted her head a little as she loudly counted everyone in the living room.

"One, two, three, four," she counted. "Are we expecting anyone else?"

Santana slowly shook her head. "Pretty much everyone we know is already here," she said with a shrug. "Maybe it's the Jehovah's Witnesses again." There was another knock, this time a little louder. Santana pointed towards Rachel. "You have to get it, I'm not allowed to talk to them anymore."

"Said who?" Rachel asked as she began walking to the door.

"Kurt," Santana said, motioning in Kurt's direction.

"She invited them in and then smoked their pamphlet!" Kurt exclaimed.

Santana rolled her eyes and started stacking the plates onto each other. She felt Brittany's hand trail down her lower back. "My dad once used the entire book of 'Proverbs' to roll joints. It didn't really make him any wiser though." She reached over Santana's shoulder, taking the plates from her hands. "I'm gonna take these to the kitchen," Brittany said and pressed a quick kiss to Santana's lips.

"Shut up," Santana said to Kurt as she sat back down. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and smiled.

Santana looked up, frowning, when she heard footsteps. Rachel was standing in the doorway, nervously tugging at the hem of her skirt. He appeared after a couple of seconds, a backpack thrown over one shoulder, rubbing his hands together and coming to stand next to Rachel.

"Hey guys," Finn said with a lopsided grin.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Santana got up slowly and took a few steps so that she was next to Kurt. "Look, Hummel!" she said and slapped Kurt on the back. "It's your long lost brother." She felt Kurt stiffen a little next to her. Despite the fact that she talked to Kurt on a daily basis Santana had no idea if he had regular contact with Finn.

Kurt shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tugged at his tie again.

"Hey Kurt," Finn said again, nodding his head in Kurt direction. "Santana."

Santana watched as Finn swayed back and forth a little on his heels, looking at them expectantly.

"Hello, Finn," Kurt said with a stiff, but polite nod.

Santana looked around when she heard footsteps behind her. "I put the rest of the cake-" Brittany started but stop in her tracks when she saw Finn.

"Brittany?" Finn asked. He looked confused as he gave a step towards Brittany and Santana instinctively stepped to her side so that she was standing between Finn and Brittany. "What's she doing here?" he asked, looking confused.

"What's she doing here?" Santana shook her head and looked down at her feet for a second. She took a deep breath before she spoke again. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she said louder than she had intended. When Finn merely licked his lips but said nothing she turned to Rachel. "What's he doing here?"

"Santana ..." Finn started.

"I told you Brittany was staying here for a while, remember?" Rachel said softly, looking uncomfortable.

"Oh, yeah," Finn gave a little chuckle. "I just figured Santana would have scared her off by now."

"No," Brittany shook her head. Her eyes searched for Santana's. Their eyes met for a second before Finn spoke again.

"I wouldn't blame you if she did, Brittany," he said, giving a strange chuckle. "I've visited Rachel for a few weeks a couple of times and she can be a handful."

Santana turned back to Rachel again. "I asked you a question," she slowly. "Did you know he was coming?"

Rachel looked at Finn. Her voice was thin and timid. "You said you'd only be here next week."

Finn shrugged and put his backpack on the floor. "Things changed and well ..." he said, giving the half smirk again. "I'm here now. I really wanted to see you, Rachel."

Santana shook her head and gave a step towards Finn. "No, you know what?" she said, pointing a finger to his face. "You can't just waltz in here and screw everything up. I spent the entire afternoon preparing a meal for _my _friends so that we could spend a quiet evening together. You know how often I go to the trouble to do that? Almost never. So I'm not gonna let you fuck everything up."

"I didn't think you'd mind." Finn looked around the room. "You guys are like my family."

"No, you're not my fucking family," Santana cried out. "You know what family would have done? They would have picked up the phone and gone like, 'Hey, Rachel. I'm in town earlier than expected so I was wondering if you have some free time because I'd really like to talk to you.' They wouldn't just show up like some goddamn homeless alcoholic uncle and see what happens."

"Look, Santana," Finn started, holding up a hand defensively. "I know that we haven't always been the best of friends-"

"No, no, we've never been friends. Not family. Not friends." She felt Brittany's arm wrap around her waist, drawing her closer.

He looked at Rachel who looked away. "We've never been the best of friends, Santana," he began again, "but, despite of what you may think or feel, I care for you and I've always tried to look out for you. I don't want to fight. We've always been a team – you, me, Rachel, Brittany, Kurt – we're like family and we should look out for one another." Santana felt Brittany arm tighten around her waist. "And right now," Finn went on, "I really need to talk to Rachel to try and work things out with her."

"Now listen here," Santana said. Her voice was clear, emphasizing every word she spoke. "I know that in your head Rachel is always going to be there for you. Waiting. And who knows, maybe she will." She looked over to Rachel, who was shifting around nervously. "And in another universe I'm sure the two of you would be the stuff that romantic comedies are made of. An epic fucking love story. Yentle and the Yeti. Oscar winning stuff. But in this universe, right here and now, you're fucking with her heart." Finn shook his head, but she continued, "You keep fucking with and she keeps letting you fuck with her. And you know what? If she wants to let you fuck with her, then that's her business. But I've had it up to here," she brought a hand up to her forehead, "with you marching in here like you own the place every few months. So, for future reference, if you value your heart, liver and other ... parts," she wiggled an index finger and pointed it towards his crotch, "and you don't want me to sell it to some middle aged drug addict on the black market, I suggest you grow or buy or steal some basic human decency and fucking call before you show up."

"Fine, so I didn't call," Finn said, sounding a little irritated. "I said I'm sorry, didn't I? But I drove here all the way from Denver and I had a lot of time to think and I just really wanted to talk to Rachel." He turned to Rachel. "I needed time on my own. To focus on myself and on my career, you understand that, don't you?" Rachel looked at Santana before she gave a very unconvincing nod. Finn smiled. "But it also gave me perspective and it made me realize that that's not what I want. Rachel, that's not what I want. I don't want to do it alone. I've realized that having a career in the military doesn't mean anything if you're not there supporting me. I want you with me, supporting me. So could we please just go somewhere? Have a drink? Talk?"

Rachel pulled at her skirt again. "I'll just go and put on something warmer," she said, looking to the floor.

"Who is this guy?" Brittany whispered loudly as Rachel quietly went up the stairs to her bedroom.

Santana frowned. She looked over to Finn. "It's Finn," she said.

"Who?" Brittany asked. Finn swayed on his heels again, smiling sheepishly at Brittany.

"Finn, Brittany," Kurt tried. "Finn Hudson."

"Yeah," Brittany said slowly, scratching her head. "I don't think I know anybody named Finn."

"Of course you know me, Britt," Finn laughed. "We went to high school together for four years. I sang most of the male leads in Glee club-"

"No," Brittany shook her head. "I'm pretty sure that was Blaine Warbler."

Finn sighed. "Before Blaine came to McKinley, Brittany," he said. He pointed to his chest. "Quarterback of the football team, I dated Rachel."

Brittany stared at him intently. "Oh," she pointed to him, "you're the freakishly tall guy who used to date Rachel?" She took a moment, seemingly thinking again. Santana narrowed her eyes at Brittany, trying to figure out what was going on. "The one who always opened his mouth like he was in a dentist's chair when he sang?" Kurt nodded vigorously and Brittany shrugged. "I don't know, I guess you look vaguely familiar."

"Vaguely familiar?" Kurt called out. "Britt, we were talking about Finn like six weeks ago and you were more than aware of who he is."

"Yeah, well," Brittany said, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, "that just reminded me of all the mean things that he's done and I decided that he doesn't exist to me anymore."

"What?" Finn gave her an incredulous look. Santana smirked, feeling her anger beginning to subside a little.

"It's just ..." Brittany sighed, closing her eyes for a second. "It was all fine, but then I started to come here and," she gave them an apologetic look, "no offense, but every time I saw Rachel I was reminded of how much I hate him. And life it too short for hate. So I did the only thing I could do – I blocked him out."

"You blocked him out?" Kurt asked confused.

"Yeah, that way I don't have to hate him anymore," Brittany said as though it was quite obvious.

Kurt shook his head. "And have you "blocked out" many people in your life?"

"Well," Brittany said, beginning to sound a little annoyed, "they're blocked out, so I wouldn't know."

Finn licked his lips and looked at Brittany. "You know, Brittany," he said, "I'm not sure what I ever did to you or to Santana, for that matter, to make you hate me this much-"

"Three letters, rhymes with pout," Santana offered.

Ignoring her he went on, "But I'm really not here to cause any trouble; I just wanted to chat with Rachel."

"Whatever," Santana said, rolling her eyes.

A few awkward moments passed. Finn seemed to have given up arguing with them and Santana really had no desire to continue any conversation with him. Kurt sat quietly, examining his nails.

"Are you going somewhere?" Finn asked, breaking the silence. He pointed to Kurt. "You're all dressed up."

"No, no," Kurt said, pulling at his suit and straightening out his tie. "I am a queer Patrick Jane." He looked around as Finn just frowned. Kurt waved his hand in the air. "And right now I sense some animosity in this room."

"Ani-what?" Finn asked. Santana wasn't sure if he couldn't hear Kurt or if he simply didn't know what the word meant.

Brittany looked up from where she was playing with one of her shoestrings. "Animosity is the leading cause of liver disease amongst Southern right whales."

"Finn ..." Rachel called from the stairs before anyone could say anything else. "I'm ready."

"You look really beautiful," Finn said.

Rachel picked up her phone from the couch and put it in her purse. "Ready?" she asked.

Finn turned around as they reached the door. "Like I said," she said, looking at Santana, "whatever it was that I might have done, I'm sorry and I probably didn't mean to. I'll see you soon."

* * *

_She hated the blue table cloth the most. It was the one that her mother only took out when they had guests upon whom she wanted to impress that they weren't just any ordinary family. When she wanted people to take note of the fact that they were the kind of family who had dinner around an oak dining table. The kind of family who set the table with silver and who used side plates with foreign names printed on the bottom. Who listened to classical music before dinner and ate in silence, every once in a while commenting on the current economic climate and the possibility of a new foreign welfare policy._

_Santana had long given up on trying establishing why they did all of these things when they had guests over. And why, when they had guests, everyone acted as though they were always this formal. As though they didn't have dinner in front of the television most of the time. As though she didn't often have her lunch in her room while her parents were at work or busy elsewhere. _

_Before – before that Monday – Brittany would just tag along. She'd sit down next to Santana in front of the television at dinner time or hover over the kitchen counter, watching Santana pop something in the microwave for dinner. But then everything changed. Brittany was now one of those people. The people who weren't allowed to see how the Lopezes usually went about their way. She was now one of those people who were formally invited to dinner, who was asked about her life and interests politely over after dinner coffee from small cups. _

_She looked over to Brittany in the chair next to hers. She hated how she noticed all the little things that she knew her mother would notice. The things that would make her mother's eyebrow curve slightly. The way Brittany rested on her elbows on the blue table cloth and leaned forward to listen when someone spoke. The way she used the same plate for her salad and her main meal. The way she laughed too loudly when Santana whispered something to her across the table. The way she gestured wildly as she explained some crazy theory she had. Santana knew that these were the things that, if she were to lurk outside of their bedroom, she would hear her mother complain to her father about. Listing, recounting each transgression as though it was some universal law that had been broken. _

_Santana sat quietly, noticing all of these little things, praying that dinner would be over soon. That her parents would talk to each other, forgetting that Brittany or Santana was even at the table. They never did. _

_She silently willed Brittany to be more like them. To be quiet, sit up straight and politely answer questions in the shortest manner possible. She looked down at her own plate, the sound of cutlery clinking against plates emphasizing every silent moment that passed, willing Brittany to do all of these things and she hated herself for it. _

_She detested the silence, but she hated the questions even more. How were Brittany's parents? How was their business doing? Did they still have the same business? Had she decided which colleges to apply to? Was she doing better academically? Had she considered not going to college? Did she know that Santana had already been accepted to four different schools? _

_Santana sat, listening to every question, hoping that Brittany wouldn't hear the condescending tone that accompanied most of her parents' questions. For the most part it seemed that she didn't notice. Santana kept her head down, her hands on her knees, drawing small circles on her knee with an index finger. She listened to Brittany answering politely, her tone light hearted and breezy. She spoke excitedly about her dad's new business idea, about her uncle who said that he'd pay for college, about her sister who wanted to join the Cheerios when she went to high school. _

_She'd be able to think that Brittany hadn't noticed anything at all – not the stares, the tones of voice, the awkward silences – if it hadn't been for the fact that she looked up from her lap for just a second. Her eyes found Brittany's and she saw Brittany quietly drowning, asking for her help. Asking her to do something, to say something. _

_She looked down again, not daring to look up before dinner was over. She drew circles on her knee, over and over and over while Brittany was drowning. She was letting Brittany drown and she hated herself for it. _

* * *

She sat on the bed watching Brittany who was looking through her bookshelf. Every now and then she'd hear something and listen closely, trying to establish if Rachel had come home yet and if Finn was with her.

"Do you think Rachel and that guy will get back together?" Brittany asked as she pulled one of the files from the bookshelf. She sat down on the edge of the bed and curiously started paging through the file. Santana watched as Brittany's fingers trailed over each page, her eyes narrowing while she slowly read through each page before turning it over. "The tall guy," she added as though Santana wouldn't know whom she was referring to.

"God, I hope not," Santana said, shaking her head, "but, honestly, they probably will." She was quiet for a moment as her mind ran through the multiple break ups she'd witnessed Rachel and Finn go through over the past few years. "I mean, this happens at least twice a year. They break up over something stupid – sometimes it's Finn wanting to pursue his career options, sometimes they feel that they need to see other people, once Rachel was convinced that he's gay-" Santana paused and gave a chuckle as Brittany gave her a confused look. She shrugged, "I know, right? And then they stay apart for a month, sometimes two, and then get back together. I think this is the seventh break up I've lived through." She leaned back against her headboard and hugged a pillow to her chest, watching Brittany's hand pause on a page in front of her.

Brittany frowned slightly and gave a serious nod. "She's like a chaster Elizabeth Taylor. He seemed kinda lame," she said and seemed to be in deep thought for a second before she continued, "I think she should just dump him for good."

"Yeah, I've been telling her that for years," Santana agreed. "They're terrible for each other. Seriously, every time they get back together I become more and more convinced that either God does not exist at all or he exists and is punishing mankind by making us suffer through the horror that is Rachel and Finn."

Brittany pushed the file away from her and crawled onto the bed so that she was sitting on her knees in front of Santana. When her eyes found Santana's they were clear blue and serious. "I hope people never say that about us," she said solemnly.

"That God is punishing humankind by letting us be together?" Santana laughed and waved a hand through the air. "Nah, we're way too hot. We're like a gift to humankind."

Brittany expression remained somber. Her voice was soft and serious when she spoke. "No, that we're really bad for each other. I hope people never say that about us," she said, wringing her hands together. "I hope no one ever says it again," she said, her voice hoarse and unsure, without looking up. Softly, so that Santana could barely hear her. Santana wanted to say something, but instead just reached out to take Brittany's hand. "What are all of these?"

"Oh," she looked over at the file in front of Brittany, "it's songs that I've collected over the years. I took this course in world music that had a practical component and we had to perform, like, songs from different parts of the world and in different genres and languages and stuff." She pulled the file closer to her and looked at the yellowed pages. Some she'd copied from the library, others were handwritten from books she'd forgotten she'd ever looked at. A few she'd printed off the internet. "I kinda liked having it, so I kept some of the songs and whenever I come across something I like I put it in here." She smiled down at the page in front of her, recognizing the music. She lifted the page so that Brittany could see. "See, this side is the original music and lyrics and on the other side I have the phonetic pronunciation and the English translation."

Brittany tilted her head and smiled. "That's really cool," she said and even now, all these years later, Santana still loved that Brittany thought something she did was cool.

"Yeah," Santana said bashfully, "I don't update it as often as I used to, but I used to sing some of these songs quite a lot." She slumped back against the headboard again and huffed. "But then Berry caught on and she started organizing these ridiculous 'Music of the World Mondays', where she'd invite everyone we know over and feed them disgusting vegan dishes from all the corners of the earth while repeatedly forcing everyone into doing duets with her in every single language and style imaginable."

Brittany pulled a face. "Sounds awful," she said, closing the file and getting up to put it back in the bookshelf.

"It was," Santana nodded, "And that's why, nowadays, I try not to remind her of it. It's bad enough that she spends twenty-three and a half hours a day singing in English. Her terrible Spanish and the gargling sounds she claims to be Russian ..." She was quiet as she remembered how Rachel once attempted to perform the entire second act from _Hairspray _in Mandarin. She shuddered. "It might kill me one day."

Brittany sat down on the bed again and shrugged. "I accepted a long time ago that it's going to be you or her ..." She leaned forward and took Santana's hand in her own. Santana brought their entangled hands to her mouth and kissed the top of Brittany's knuckles. Brittany looked at their hands, as though trying to determine where her hand ended and where Santana's started. "I hope it's her," she said, still watching their hands, "because I don't want you to die."

Santana leaned closer and let her lips gaze over Brittany's lightly. She deepened the kiss when Brittany hummed against her lips.

She groaned when Brittany pulled away. Tugging at the sides of Brittany's shirt Santana tried to pull her closer. "It's getting pretty late," Brittany said, resting her forehead against Santana's. "I have to be up again in, like, five and a half hours, so I should probably go."

Santana pulled away, looking at Brittany confused. "What?" she asked as Brittany got up from the bed. "Where are you going?"

"Uhm," Brittany began, looked slightly unnerved. "I'm gonna go to bed, it's getting late and we should get some sleep."

"Britt," Santana said, her brow creasing, "are you kidding me?"

"No, it's like almost two in the morning," Brittany said seriously.

Santana got up and walked over to where Brittany was standing halfway between the bed and the bedroom door. "Come on, let's go to bed," she said, her hand reaching out to pull Brittany back to the bed.

Not taking Santana's hand immediately Brittany looked somewhat unsure. "Really?" she asked. "I don't want you to think that we have to sleep in the same bed every night or that I'm clingy or something."

For a moment Santana couldn't understand why Brittany would be hesitant to sleep in her bed, but then she remembered. She remembered how, when they were fifteen or so, she used to sneak out of her bed as soon as Brittany fell asleep. Or she'd tell Brittany that she'd better sleep in the spare bedroom. Waking up together in the morning, limbs entangled with Brittany's body pushing against her own, just seemed too intimate. Too gay. And she wasn't gay. Later, after everyone knew about them, she asked Brittany to leave even more often. The once or twice that Brittany did sleep over, Santana would wake up in the middle of the night. She would listen to Brittany's steady breathing and, when she listened closely, she could swear that she heard urgent whispers somewhere down the hall. She'd lay there till morning, waiting for familiar feelings of guilt and shame to wash over her as she heard Brittany, in a sleep shirt and briefs, run into either of her parents on her way to the bathroom.

Santana swallowed and reached out to grasp Brittany's hand tightly. "Come on," she said, pulling Brittany to the bed.

"I should get my pajamas," Brittany said, gesturing towards the door with her head.

"You don't need pajamas." She held her hand tightly, tighter than she'd meant to, and pulled again so that Brittany's body came to press against her. "You can borrow a shirt or something in the morning," Santana said, tracing a finger along Brittany's collarbone. "Just ..." She placed a kiss against Brittany's chest and looked up, searching for her eyes. "Please?"

Brittany said nothing but held Santana's gaze for a moment. Then she pulled away and slowly started unbuttoning her shirt. Santana took a few steps backwards until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sat down and watched as Brittany slowly took off her shirt and continued to unbutton and push her jeans down her legs. Wordlessly Santana watched as she finally took off her underwear.

Brittany looked around a little uncomfortably as she seemed to realize that she was now naked while Santana was still sitting on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes roaming over Brittany's body. "What?" Brittany asked. She bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes downward.

"You're really beautiful," Santana eventually said. Still sitting on the bed she reached forward to pull Brittany closer. One hand on her waist, she ran the other over Brittany's stomach. "You're beautiful like this."

Kneeling down between Santana's legs Brittany reached up and pulled her shirt over her head. Santana's breath hitched as Brittany started to slowly remove her remaining clothes. Finally, after she had thrown Santana's bra on a chair that stood in the corner, Brittany climbed onto the bed and pulled Santana under the covers. Santana sighed as she rolled over onto her back and hooked one of her legs over Brittany's thigh.

She closed her eyes when she felt Brittany's breath against her neck. Brittany's forefinger traced down her neck, over the curves of her shoulder and finally down to the crook of her arm. Her finger lingered a little before she bent down and placed a soft kiss on Santana's shoulder.

Santana turned a little so that she was lying on her side, facing Brittany. "Are you really not going to be here next week?"

"It's my dad's birthday." Brittany placed one more kiss against her shoulder. "I told you that, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Santana said quietly. She groaned, "I was just hoping that your dad decided to move his birthday to April – like that one time in middle school – or that you decided to come camping in the city or something. I know some excellent spots if you're interested."

"Nope, no changed plans unfortunately," Brittany shook her head. "But you should tell me more about these camping sites you know. Maybe I'll be able to convince my folks to come here for my dad's birthday next year."

"Seriously though, it really sucks that you'll be away for so long," Santana said. "It's bad enough that we only get to see each other on the weekends. Two whole weeks just feel like forever."

Brittany turned her head and raised an eyebrow. "If we were dogs it would have been like four months."

Santana giggled. She loved how Brittany still made her giggle and how she didn't care. "I guess it's lucky that we're not dogs then."

Brittany sighed and Santana felt Brittany's hand searching under the covers. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you more," Santana said seriously, taking Brittany's hand.

"I really like you, Santana," Brittany said.

Santana took a moment to soak in the words. Brittany liked her. Despite everything, Brittany liked her. "I like you, too," she eventually said. She wanted to add more, to say something else, to tell Brittany how much she liked her, only she didn't really know what more to say. So she just lay there, gripping Brittany's hand tighter, silently praying that they could stay like that forever. "Do you still go to the same camping site every year?" she asked, trying to imagine what it would be like now, all of these years later. If they still stayed in the same tents, if they still had the same rituals. "The one with the gross lake?"

"No ..." Brittany said slowly. She seemed to be thinking, contemplating. "We ..." she began, but then seemed to change her mind. "No," she quickly said, "we don't go there anymore."

Santana nodded, not sure how to reply. She turned her head a little more, trying to read Brittany's expression, but Brittany's head was turned away as she stared at the ceiling.

"Santana?" Brittany said after a while.

Santana propped herself up on an elbow. "Yeah?"

Brittany looked at her for a second and then looked away again. "It's November now," she said.

Santana frowned. "Are you saying or asking?"

"I'm saying," Brittany replied. She brought up one of her hands and counted on her fingers. "It's November which means that in four months it will be March ..."

_Brittany, I was wondering if you could maybe just indicate to us the exact dates that you'll be here with us, so that I can put it on here_, she heard Rachel's voice in her head again. She'd paid so little attention when Rachel had asked.

_The show goes on until the end of March, so ... till then, I guess_, Brittany had said.

Santana sank back onto her pillow. It was fucking November already. Which meant that in four months it would be March.

Four fucking months. That was sixteen weekends. Thirteen if she subtracted Brittany's dad's birthday and the Christmas holidays. Thirteen weekends.

She swallowed. Obviously she'd known, she'd been there when Brittany told Rachel the show would be running until March. "Britt ..." her voice was thick, "not now," she held a breath for a couple of seconds and then slowly blew it out. They'd have to talk about it soon. "Not yet ..." But not now. "Please ..."

Brittany held her hand in the air again, holding up four fingers. "Sing something," Brittany said, wiggling her fingers. "The way you used to. Do you remember?" Santana closed her eyes, remembering lazy afternoons in their backyard, stolen moments before she'd sneak off, leaving Brittany behind in a mess of sheets and pillows. Just the sound of her voice and Brittany's rhythmic breathing. Sometimes she would absentmindedly tap out the beat against her knee.

"I always used to lay here and you'd sing to me," Brittany recalled. "I think that'll always be my favorite memories of you. Singing to me, while everything else is quiet. Just you and me. And no matter what would go wrong or how scared I'd be or how sad I'd be, you would just sing everything better." Brittany softly tapped her fingers against Santana's chest as though she could hear music from somewhere.

Santana frowned. "Are you sad now?"

"No," Brittany shook her head. She turned so that Santana could see her mouth curve into a smile. "Right now I'm just really, really happy." She paused for a second. "And a little bit scared, but mostly happy."

"What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything," Brittany said immediately. "No, sing one of those songs," she nodded her head in the direction of the bookshelf. "The ones I don't understand."

"But then you won't understand," Santana laughed and moved her head on the pillow. She could smell honey and flowers and something else that she didn't recognize, but loved nonetheless.

"I'll understand," Brittany said quietly. "I always understand when you sing. And even if I don't, you'll just translate."

"Okay," Santana said, her mind running over all of the songs that she'd collected through the years. Some she could barely remember, of others she could only recall a lyric here or a few notes there. "Just give me a second."

She cleared her throat and pulled Brittany a little closer to her. She was sixteen again and all she knew was that they were alone and all she could offer Brittany was a song. She was eighteen and the only thing she had was Brittany. Brittany who lay quietly, listening, trying to understand what she was saying. She was twenty and desperately trying to forget. Then she was here again and Brittany hummed against her neck and she took a deep breath before she sang the first lines.

_"Ik zie hoe landen zich verscheuren_

_Ik voel de kanker van cynisme_

_Ik zie de mensen zonder dromen_

_Ze vluchten in goedkope luxe_

_In de ontevreden steden_

_Jaagt de haat door oude straten_

_De dreiging komt steeds dichterbij_

_Maar ik, ik heb een medicijn"_

She paused after the first verse, not knowing whether Brittany really wanted her to sing the whole song.

"What does it mean?" Brittany asked.

"I think, more or less, it means, 'I see how countries tear apart, I feel the cancer of cynicism, I see people without dreams who escape in cheap luxury," she paused for a second, recalling the translation she'd written down a few years ago. "'In the discontent cities hate chases through old streets, the threat still comes closer, but I have the right medicine.'"

She waited for Brittany to reply, to say something, but when she didn't Santana continued, softly.

_"Ik heb je lief_

_Ik heb je liever_

_Liever dan mijn leven_

_Dan om het even wat_

_Ik heb je lief_

_Ik heb je liever_

_Liever liefste_

_Elke dag"_

This time she didn't wait for Brittany to say anything before she translated, "I love you, I love you more. More than my life, more than anything. I love you, I love you more. Love you more, love; every day."

She could hear Brittany's steady breathing hitch a little, but she still said nothing.

_"Wat ik ook wil zeggen_

_Jij krijgt mijn woorden klein_

_Was ik maar een dichter_

_Dan kon ik dichter bij jou zijn_

_Was ik maar het bloed_

_Dat door jouw lichaam stroomt_

_Dan sliep ik in je hart_

_En ik woonde in jouw hoofd"_

She thought of Brittany, lying in her bed not too long ago, while she sat on the chair watching. She remembered the way she'd kissed her, and then kissed her again. She remembered the night before, Brittany panting her name, repeating it over and over like a mantra.

"Whatever I want to say, you make sense of my words." She felt Brittany turn so that she was on her side, her hand coming to rest on one of Santana's breasts. She wondered if Brittany could feel her heart beating as she continued. "If only I was a poet I would be closer to you. If I were the blood that rushes through your body, then I'd sleep in your heart and I'd live in your mind."

Santana thought of all the things she wanted to tell Brittany. All of the secrets that she wanted her to keep. She thought of November and March and of Brittany being here and being away again.

_"Want ik heb je lief_

_Ik heb je liever_

_Liever dan mijn leven_

_Dan om het even wat_

_Ik, ik heb je lief_

_Ik heb je liever_

_Liever Liefste_

_Elke dag_

_Ik heb je liever Liefste_

_Elke dag"_

"Because I love you, I love you more. More than my life, more than anything. I love you, I love you more. Love you more, love; every day. Love you more, love; every day," she whispered into the room. She felt Brittany's fingers tapping softly, rhythmically, against her heart.

_"Ik heb je liever Liefste_

_Elke dag_"

* * *

Thank you to TinyFi311, Ryan47 and NoobNoMo for their sharp eyes, amazing linguistic abilities and kind words.

Santana sang _Ik heb je lief _by Stef Bos. _  
_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_It felt different than she had imagined._

_Leaving._

_She'd imagined that it would somehow feel bigger, more spectacular. Like something was actually going to happen. To change._

_She'd imagined that she would somehow instinctively know where to go, what to do. That she would feel more like herself once she'd left. She'd imagined that it would be more dramatic, that she would feel different. That, just maybe, she wouldn't be as scared and lonely. That she'd be brave. Perhaps even brave enough to turn around and go back to make things right. _

_But she felt the same. Empty. Restless. Unsure of where she was heading and what she would do there. And so she would keep on driving to nowhere in particular. Anywhere but Boulder. Anywhere but Lima. Anywhere but Ohio. Anywhere that would not scream Brittany's name out to her. _

_She hadn't imagined that everyone would be quite as relaxed about her leaving as they were. She'd thought that her parents would scream and yank the car keys from her hand and cut off her allowance. She had thought that, when your eighteen year old daughter announced that she didn't know whether she'd be going to college anymore and she was leaving to go do god-knows-what god-knows-where, that you'd be upset. That you'd try to talk her out of it. Suggest an alternative. Try to convince her that, if nothing else, she ought to consider au pairing in Amsterdam for a year or working on a kibbutz in Israel. But her parents were quiet as she packed up her room, fitting everything into three suitcases and two smallish boxes. They didn't say anything when her father asked where she'd be staying and she replied that she didn't know yet. Her mother asked her to let them know where she was staying over every night, her father reminded her that he would help if she wanted to get into a college at the last minute. _

_Even as she walked out of her room for the last time, still feeling heavy and somber, she imagined that she would soon feel better. When she packed the last of her things into her car and felt her mother kiss her turned cheek while her father slipped a roll of $100 bills into her hand, she was still sure that, as soon as she'd left, as soon as she got away from that shithole town, she would feel different. _Better.

_She drove north. For no particular reason other than the fact that, apart from the few days the Glee club had spent in New York at the end of her junior year, she'd never really traveled farther than Connecticut and she thought that a change of scenery might do her good. She drove slowly, not really in any hurry to get anywhere. She avoided taking the most direct routes between cities and stopped in most of the towns she passed through._

_As she drove she thought about Brittany, mostly. She remembered how Brittany would always put her feet on the dashboard when they drove. Or how she'd sometimes casually slip her hand onto her knees as she drove .She let her thoughts run back to the events of the past year, trying to make sense of everything that happened. It felt as though the beginning of senior year had been decades ago. She wondered what would have happened if the past year had played out differently. What if she had been braver? Or even more scared? But then again, maybe it had nothing to do at all with bravery or her lack thereof. Maybe this was just the way her life was supposed to go and there was nothing she could really do about it. Looking back, it felt as though that day she had walked up to Brittany's locker and finally said it, finally told her that she loved her, she'd gotten into a car with no steering wheel and no brakes and she had spent the past eighteen months clinging to her seat helplessly while the car sped downhill. It sped faster and faster until she could no longer make sense of anything she passed and was simply waiting for the moment that it would crash into something. Or perhaps she had already crashed and simply hadn't noticed. _

_Two nights after she first left she ended up in a small motel near Buffalo. A couple of years ago she would have been absolutely sure that, should she ever be on a cross country road trip by herself, she would not waste a single second before heading to the closest bar and whipping out the fake ID that she got from Puck in junior year. Now she felt different. She had stopped by a liquor store on the first night to buy a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels and a few packs of cigarettes, but she had no real desire to go out._

_The thought of having to spend hours on end in some crowded club or bar with no Brittany who'd subtly thrust her hips into Santana's backside as they danced seemed unbearable. To go out to a bar and get wasted night after night felt like something a regular eighteen year old would do. And she refused to feel like a regular eighteen year old. To get drunk, hook up with a random person. Get drunk again; hook up with another random person. Because feeling like a regular eighteen year old would mean that she might have to consider that, after everything, she was just a regular eighteen year old. Just another girl whose first relationship didn't work out. Who got her heart broken by puppy love, but would soon forget why she ever thought that it might have been true love. She would have had to consider that soon she would have trouble remembering what Brittany looked like, the exact color of her eyes, the way she would sometimes nudge Santana's leg with her own under the table in Biology. Perhaps there would be a day when she would have trouble remembering Brittany's middle name or her phone number and later, much later, she might only vaguely remember that there was once a girl who she fell in love with and who briefly loved her back._

_Most of all she was afraid of that. That she would realize that Brittany was only the first of a long line of girls who would win and break her heart. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary._

_She sat with her back against the wall outside her motel room; legs stretched out in front of her as she took a sip of whiskey from the bottle. Every now and then she could hear a car go by, but the motel seemed quiet. She took another sip and closed her eyes. She wondered if she was simply being a spoiled brat. If she had kept quiet, simply continued with everything like she had for the past few months, things might have been different. She was sure that if she had asked her, Brittany would have gotten into the car with her without a second thought. Without thinking for a single moment about whether they were doing the right thing. If she hadn't ended things Brittany might have been sitting opposite her right now, taking turns to gulp down whiskey until they would both feel light headed and would stumble back into the room and onto the bed._

_Maybe she was being selfish. Perhaps she should not have been the one to sit around, drinking whiskey and feeling sorry for herself. She lit a cigarette and wondered for the umpteenth time if it would be better if she went back. If she simply turned around and started driving until she was back in Lima. She tried to remember all of the reasons why she shouldn't go back. All of the reasons that she had to keep going until she was as far away as possible. There were fourteen. She pulled her legs up to her chest and tried to think of reasons why it would be better for her to go back. There was only one reason she could think of. One reason and it wasn't good enough. _

_A couple walked by, holding hands. The woman laughed and rested her head against the man's shoulder. Santana stared at them, not quite sure if she was still able to remember how it felt to be happy. Happiness felt far away all of a sudden. She tried to remember how long it had been. She really wasn't sure. Had she been happy up until the moment when she turned around and left Brittany standing alone in her driveway? She brought the cigarette to her lips and took a deep drag. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall the last time she could remember feeling truly content. Was it sometime during the summer? Maybe it had been somewhere in the moment before Becky had told her that Sue wanted to see her. Or before when she first looked up from her homework and saw her own reflection on the television in front of her. Surely there had to have been other times when she had been happy. _

_Lying on her back in Brittany's backyard, looking up at the trees. Feeling feathery kisses wake her after an afternoon nap. The short moments when Brittany would pass her in the hallway on her way to class and would let her hand linger on Santana's waist for a second before going to her own class. Her mind knew that she must have been happy during all of those times, but she simply couldn't remember ever feeling anything but this deep seated anger, this anger which lingered all the time and made her heart kind of numb. _

_She lit another cigarette and sat back as she watched the couple disappear behind the corner. Contemplating whether she should try to go to bed, she pulled out her phone. It was 01:32 a.m. She'd sit out there and smoke a last cigarette before heading back inside, she decided. After all, it wasn't like she needed to get up early the next morning. _

_Using her finger she drew small circles on her denim clad knees. Over and over she let her finger run over the rough texture of her jeans, trying to see if she could draw the perfect circle on her knee. She tried not to think about anything, but the harder she tried, the more she seemed to think about everything. She saw images of Brittany and Sue and her parents and Finn Hudson and college applications and people looking as she walked into the supermarket. She heard her own voice reasoning, Brittany desperately trying to understand, and her own voice reasoning even more. She heard the voice in her head tell her that there really was nothing else she could do. _

_Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. She looked up and saw a man approaching. Looking away again she hoped that he would pass by without taking much notice of her. She took a last drag of her cigarette as she heard the footsteps come closer and then stop. Letting her eyes briefly wander over where the footsteps had stopped she saw a pair of worn out sneakers._

_"Hi there," his voice was deep, but pleasant. "Mind if I borrow your lighter?" _

_She looked up and studied him curiously. He was handsome. Curly hair, broad shouldered, clean shaven. He looked at her through black rimmed glasses. He kind of looked like how she imagined a straight version of Blaine Anderson might have looked like. His jeans and t-shirt let her to believe that he probably spent ridiculous amounts of money to look like a poor socialist. She quietly picked up the lighter from where it was lying next to her and wordlessly held it out. _

_"Thanks," he said, giving her a smile. He kept eye contact as he lit a cigarette and handed the lighter back. She looked away and let her fingers run over her knees again. "I'm Mark," she heard him say. When she didn't look up he got down on his haunches, leaning against the stair railing. "You drinking all by yourself?" he tried again. His voice was light, flirtatious. _

_She nodded and took another drag of her own cigarette. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, hoping that her lack of response would send him on his way. Not too long ago she would have flirted back, she thought. Maybe she would have convinced him to take her to a bar and then she would have fucked him on a dingy motel room with an ugly floral bedspread. She would have imagined it was Brittany. She always imagined it was Brittany. _

_She found the very idea that there used to be a time when she would have considered having sex with a strange man whom she picked up outside of her motel room rather amusing. The side of her mouth pulled into a slight grin as she looked up at the man leaning against the railing, seemingly without any intention of leaving. _

_"Not really the talkative type, are you?" he said, blowing circles of smoke into the air in front of him. _

_"No," she said with a shake of her head. A year or so ago she would have given him a much snarkier reply. He most likely wouldn't have even had the chance to start a conversation before she would have sent him on his way. But now she felt different. Like she had no energy left to waste on insulting random strangers. She used to think that she was angry all the time. But that wasn't real anger, she now realized. That was superficial, a bitchy veneer to keep everyone at a safe enough distance. _This _was anger though. The kind of anger that had infested her body so deeply, so completely, that she wasn't always sure where it came from or who it was directed at. It was a silent anger; it sat uncomfortably in her heart, as though quietly waiting until a day would come that it would bust out of her chest and destroy everything in its path. But for now her anger was still lingering, not even bothering with shallow sarcastic remarks. She suddenly saw no use in doing anything other than silently waiting, willing the stranger in front of her to leave sooner rather than later. _

_"What's the matter?" He clearly wasn't going to give up that easily. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other he steadied himself against the railing again. "Do you have a boyfriend or something?"_

_Her head shot up, she searched for his eyes. His face looked open and unthreatening through his glasses; he smiled when he saw her looking up at him. _

_"No," she paused, biting her lip in thought. She wanted to tell him why, explain why she didn't have a boyfriend. She shook her head slowly, drawing a deep breath. "No boyfriend," she simply said. _

_"So ..." he drew out the vowel and smiled at her again, "you want to get something to drink? Or share?" he asked, pointing to the bottles of whiskey next to her. _

_"Not tonight," she said slowly. She looked down at her hand on her knee, searching for the right words. Maybe she should just say it, she thought. Three words. That's all it would take. "Look," she started. Her fingers went in circles again, nervous going around and around. "I'm ... I- I'm just not looking, okay?"_

_He nodded and took a last drag of his cigarette before throwing the bud over the railing and getting up. "Cool," he said, looking a little deflated, "I guess I'll see you around."_

_She waited until she was sure that he was gone before she got up. Taking a large swig from the bottle of whiskey, and then another, she walked back into her room. _

_"Fuck!" She banged her fist against the small table near the door. "Fucking fuck!"_

_She'd imagined that everything would be different. _

_Another mouthful of whiskey burned down her throat. She slowly walked over to the bed. Sitting down she looked at the hideous floral patterned bedspread. She didn't deserve much more, she thought. She deserved to stay in ugly motel rooms, to sleep under revolting covers. Alone. She looked around the room. She hadn't bothered to take anything but a single suitcase from her car. Somewhere at the back of her head she heard her dad's voice mumble something about crime and safety and talking to strangers, but she ignored it and walked over to the bed. _

_She sat the bottle of whiskey down on the bedside table and pulled her phone from her pocket. It was dead. Looking around she then picked up the telephone that stood on the table next to the bottle of whiskey. It reminded her of the phone that used to hang in her grandmother's kitchen when she was little. Letting her fingers run down the yellowish chord, she let her hand hover above the phone for a moment before she slowly dialed the number._

_Her heart beat a little faster when she heard the phone ring - she had no idea why she was doing this. It probably wasn't a good idea; she knew it wasn't. But just this once, she thought, she just needed to hear her voice one last time. _

_"Hello?"_

_She swallowed. Hands were closing around her throat._

_Brittany's voice was groggy. "Hello? Is anyone there?"_

_For the second time that night she told herself to say something, anything, but invisible fingers were still wrapping themselves around her throat. She wanted to tell Brittany about this anger. About everything that she'd been thinking about. She wanted to tell her that she was so, so angry with everyone in the world. With her parents, with Sue, with that idiot from the pizza place, with Finn Hudson and all of the other hypocrites who walked the halls of McKinley High. She wanted to tell Brittany how angry she was with her. But most of all she wanted to tell her how angry she was with herself. How she spent her day wondering what she could have done differently, wondering if anything would have made any difference. She felt tears beginning to burn at the back of her eyelids and she blinked a few times. She wouldn't cry. _

_"Gran, if it's you calling again you need to hold the phone near your mouth when you speak,"Brittany said sleepily. _

_Santana chuckled slightly before the first sob shook through her body. She put her hand over her mouth, not sure if it would muffle the sound. _

_"Santana?" Brittany suddenly sounded awake. "Santana, is that you?"_

_She bit into her hand as another sob shook through her body. Slipping from the bed, phone still clutched against her ear, she closed her eyes, allowing tears to stream down her face. _

_She could hear Brittany breathe into the phone, it sounded like she was moving. "Santana, where are you?" Santana choked a little as she swallowed hard, trying to recompose herself. She wanted to tell Brittany that she was okay. That everything would be all right. "Just tell me where you are, I'll come and get you. I swear, I will. Just tell me where you are. I have a map and I can get my mom's car, I'll leave right now."_

_The phone slipped from her hand a little. _

_"Santana, please ... Just talk to me."_

_Nothing was anything like she had imagined. _

* * *

It was Thursday. That meant that it had been four days since she last saw Brittany. It also meant that she would only see her again in eight more days. At this stage Santana felt like her life had become a never ending cycle of texting, calling, emailing, Skyping, and texting again.

She sat in the kitchen, one hand flipping through a magazine as she quickly texted Brittany with the other. She looked up from her magazine when she heard Rachel come into the kitchen. "You wanna get take out or something?" she asked as she grabbed her phone.

"No, thank you," Rachel answered politely. "I'll be having drinks with some acquaintances from the industry tonight."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh, you mean other unemployed singers?"

Rachel turned around to face Santana and gripped the back of a chair before she spoke. "I'll have you know that I am anything but unemployed, Santana. We're doing a third run of Sandy Sun and I got a call back for a newly written production about Ayn Rand's life and achievements."

Santana nodded and quickly opened another text from Brittany. "Sounds absolutely thrilling," she said as she quickly typed out a reply. "So is your white knight not available tonight? Is he off fighting crime or something?"

"Actually I've realized that I need to make time to see my other friends after Finn and I decided to set some boundaries," Rachel said.

"Because the four states that physically separate you from him don't provide enough boundaries as it is?" Santana asked and held up a hand in question. "Not that I'm not super excited about the idea of putting some more distance between Finn and me."

"I'm not referring to physical boundaries, Santana," Rachel explained, sounding rather annoyed. "I'm addressing the issue of emotional and spiritual boundaries and how I've realized that one of the reasons that Finn and I have had some problems in the past is that I am an extremely creative individual. That's why I've decided to start spending a little more time with others who are equally creative and expressive, without Finn."

"So you're going to start restricting your creativity?" Santana asked again as she watched Rachel switch on the kettle. "Because that's another thing that I would actually approve of. I'll have coffee, thanks."

Rachel threw her a look before she turned around and grabbed another mug from the cabinet behind her. "I'm going to choose to ignore that comment and interpret it as a superb example of the envy that you've always displayed when my talent is brought up. That's probably why you don't understand what I mean," she said with a huff. "What I mean to say is that, when one has as much talent as I do, there are many advantages but it also has some drawbacks."

"You're right," Santana nodded. "I have no idea."

"I thought so and that's okay," Rachel said with a sympathetic nod, "there's really no need to feel intimidated. But what I've come to realize is that, because of my talent I also tend to have stronger emotional reactions. I'm not sure if the relationship is casual, but I've come to accept that I feel a lot more than ordinary people."

"What?"

"On various levels my emotional and spiritual experiences tend to be much more intense than regular individuals' experiences. This is obviously a great gift when I am happy or have positive experiences or if I'm, say, required to perform very emotional pieces. But it also means that I often have enhanced experiences of less positive experiences and that I sometimes tend to experience these as catastrophes when they are in fact only small setbacks," Rachel said as she put a cup of coffee on the table in front of Santana and sat down.

Santana narrowed her eyes and took a sip of coffee. "What does that have to do with Finn though?"

"Well," Rachel began, "Finn and I have talked and I've realized that he's right. I demand too much of him. And I suspect that that might be because of these extreme reactions I experience. And although I am obviously supportive of him and his career," she held up a hand when Santana leaned forward and opened her mouth to reply and then continued, "I always experience my own failures and successes so much more intensely. And although I can't really help this kind of reaction, I realized that I need to change that. I've always put my own career and my own needs in front of his and if I want our relationship to work, I have to allow him to follow his passion and dreams, the way that he's allowed me to follow mine. And if it happens that he is more successful in his career than I am in mine, I will have to accept that and be as passionate about his career as I am about my own."

"Okay," Santana said slowly, "but that makes no sense. If you're going to be positive and optimistic and all that crap about the fucking 0.0001% chance that Finn might actually be successful in his career as a bodyguard -"

"Security Operator Specialist."

"Whatever. The point is, if you're willing to sacrifice and compromise, then shouldn't he be willing to do the same thing? Like is he going to dump you because you win a Tony or something?"

"Don't be so naive, Santana!" Rachel said desperately. "Look around you! Look at the countless relationships that have failed because one partner forced the other to live in their shadow and did not recognize the other person as an autonomous human being who should be allowed to do more than make honey infused lemon tea and fetch dry cleaning. Madonna and Jesus, Britney and Kevin, Fanny Brice and Mr. Arnstein. I don't want to be a 21st century Fanny, Santana!"

"Nobody wants to be any century's fanny, Berry," Santana said. When she saw Rachel staring blankly at her, she shook her head and went on. "Okay, Rachel, I'm going to push aside some of the things that I'm thinking and feeling about this pathetic display of internalized chauvinism and the way you're absolutely throwing away your life because your idiot boyfriend doesn't want to be the Joseph to your Virgin Mary and watch you do something really amazing with your life, and I'm going to give some rare and well-intended advice."

"Really?" Rachel asked, her eyes widening slightly as she leaned forward.

"Yes." Santana gave her a superior nod. "Rachel, you need to let Finn sort out his own issues. It's not your fault that you are incredibly talented and he's an attention-seeker with a Hercules complex."

The smile that had spread across Rachel's face when she heard Santana call her talented quickly faded and she frowned while sipping her tea. "Are you saying that I shouldn't want Finn to be happy? Should I expect him to give up what's important to him because my dreams are more important?"

"Of course not," Santana sighed and took another sip of coffee. "That's not what I'm saying at all. And I'm not saying that people shouldn't support each other when they're in a relationship and that you shouldn't compromise for the person you love. Because you should. You should want the person you love to be happy and do something that makes them happy. But that's the thing, Rachel. But I'm not sure that you're doing this, that you're willing to give up everything because you want Finn to be happy, as much as you're doing it because you don't want _you _to be unhappy."

"I don't understand," Rachel said softly.

"Look, are you willing to let go of your goals, your dreams, because you really want what's best for Finn? Or are you doing it because you don't want him to leave you again?"

Rachel looked at her for a long time. "Would you?"

"Would I what?" Santana asked a little confused.

"Would you give up your dreams and your ideals for Brittany? So that she could be happy?"

Santana closed her eyes for a second, remembering. "I would," she nodded. "In a heartbeat."

Rachel looked away, her finger playing with the cup in front of her. Santana watched her, not say anything. They both looked up when they heard the front door open.

"Hi guys," Finn said as he stepped into the kitchen, Kurt following a few steps behind him.

"Hi" Rachel jumped up and stood on her toes to kiss Finn. "What have the two of you been up to?"

"I was just wandering around," Finn shrugged, "looking for a new paintball gun and then I ran into Kurt and I thought it might be cool if we hung out for a bit."

"Just some step-brotherly shopping," Kurt interjected and held up two shopping bags, "looking around for cufflinks. But then we got thrown out of a boutique because Finn asked if they had anything in flannel."

"That's insane, right?" Finn asked, looking at Rachel and Santana. He put his hands in his pockets and swayed back and forth a little. "So Santana, have you heard anything from Brittany?"

"Yup," Santana slammed her hand on the table, "we had phone sex on Rachel's new fleece blanket last night."

Rachel gave a high-pitched scream. "What?"

"God," Santana rolled her eyes, "I'm just kidding!"

"Did you guys talk about me at all?" Finn tried again. "Did she say anything about me?"

"Yes," Santana wasn't really sure what Finn was getting at, "now that you mention it, we spent several hours on Skype yesterday making a list of all the reasons we consider you to be the perfect human being and then we wrote an epic poem. Yeah, we called it 'Eulogy for a Yeti' and it's pretty awesome."

"I just don't understand," Finn said as Rachel handed him a glass of juice, "I always thought of her as a close friend. Like, after all of you guys left, and Britt was still in Lima, we used to talk all the time. I helped her out quite a lot actually."

Santana's head shot up. "You what?"

Finn licked his lips and shrugged. "We talked and I helped her out and stuff. I mean, after you ... you know ... and she was just kind of wandering around all the time. And I felt like, even though high school was over and everything, I still felt like I had a kinda responsibility. Like, I was the leader of the Glee club and I wasn't going to just sit around if one of us needed help or was in trouble. That's what being a team is about, right?"

Santana shook her head. "Not really, no."

"Well, anyway, I used to chat with her whenever I saw her around town, or sometimes when she was at Burt's. I think it did her good to talk to me. I helped her to ... you know, get over you and move on."

"Okay, hold up," Santana said, getting up from her chair and taking a step closer to Finn. "What exactly did you talk about?"

"I just ... I help her realize that you guys ... that you leaving might not have been such a bad thing and that there were other people out there. People who might be better for her than you were."

"Oh yeah?"

"How was I supposed to know you guys were going to get back together?" He looked over to Rachel and Kurt as though he was silently asking them to back him up. "I think it's great that you guys found your way back to one another and you know, maybe it will work out this time. But come on, Santana. Everybody knows that back in high school Brittany was your little puppy dog, following you around wherever you went. Doing whatever you did. You guys were completely mismatched. You were like this super hot gay chick and you had all of these issues to deal with and Brittany ... I'm just not sure that she really understood what was going on. You know she's not that ... you know - "

"No, I don't know." She took another step towards Finn. He moved his chair back a little. "She's not that what?"

Finn sighed. "Smart, okay," he said. "Let's just be real, Brittany has never been the smartest and that's okay. I mean, I know I'm not the smartest either, but there are other things that we're really good at. Like how I'm good at being a leader and bringing people together. That's why I felt that I had to be there for Brittany when she needed someone."

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"I told you. That I thought that it might not have been such a bad thing that you guys didn't work out. And that I thought that she needed to work a little harder to get over you."

"Work a little harder?"

"Santana, look, I know that we've all grown up and we're different people now, but back in high school you were a pretty nasty piece of work. And I just thought that Britt might have been better off with someone who is a little more like her, you know? So I set her up with a couple of guys I knew-"

"And she agreed to all of this?"

"Look, we hung out sometimes and I told her that I wanted to introduce her to some people. That's all." He looked at her and shrugged again before getting up. "I'm going to take a quick a shower and then I'll walk down with you, okay, Rach?"

Santana leaned against the table as she watched Finn and Rachel walk out of the kitchen. She was breathing heavily, trying to focus on something else but the anger that boiled inside of her.

"What are you thinking?" Kurt interrupted her thoughts.

She looked over to Kurt and then to the spot where Finn had been sitting. "I'm contemplating which would more likely inflict a fatal wound: a knife or scissors. What do you think?"

Kurt brought a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. "Scissors if they're sharp. Otherwise a knife. Please don't get any blood on that table cloth; I need to borrow it for my dinner party next week." He turned around and started to walk out of the kitchen. "And did Brittany find you? She was looking for you earlier – charge your damn phone!"

* * *

_It was the wrong girl. It was just after two o'clock on the morning of Brittany's twentieth birthday and she woke up next to the wrong girl. Her hair was a darker blond. Her eyes were brown and wide, and her skin wasn't milky enough. She was too short and she hated cats._

_Santana turned around. An uncomfortable dip in the middle of the bed reminded her that it wasn't her own. She slowly sat up and flung her legs over the edge of the bed, away from the girl sleeping next to her. Her mouth tasted like alcohol and cigarettes and something minty. Not really knowing why - the girl was sleeping after all - she drew the sheet a little closer to her chest. _

_She sat there for a moment, looking around the unfamiliar apartment. Her jeans and shirt were discarded on the floor near the bed and seemed to have lost her jacket somewhere between the club and strange blonde's apartment. She glanced over the pictures of unfamiliar people against the wall. Her eye caught the time and date on the electronic alarm clock next to the bed. It was _her_ birthday. Her birthday._

_She wished that she had forgotten completely and that the date meant nothing to her. Or that she had remembered only when she saw the date and wondered for a while why it looked so familiar. That she had to think for a second before she remembered that it was Brittany's birthday. _

_But she didn't forget. She remembered. For the past month she had counted down the days – she counted down to the first birthday in eight years that she wouldn't be there._

_There wouldn't be any awkward kisses like on the morning of Brittany's fourteenth birthday._

_There wouldn't be any hurried, reckless sex, clumsily touching in the dark, like the night of Brittany's sixteenth birthday. _

_She wouldn't get to see Brittany's excited face as she waited outside her front door or feel Brittany pushing her back against the passenger door of her car before the first bell rang, like she had seen on the morning of Brittany's eighteenth birthday._

_She grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head. It wasn't hers, but she couldn't really be bothered. Tiptoeing to the small bathroom she splashed some water onto her face before sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. The apartment was eerily quiet. She looked down at her phone and took a shaky breath. Her fingers scrolled down over the names in her phonebook. _

_(She still hadn't removed the little heart icon next to the name. It had been eleven months since she last dialed the number. _

_She needed to delete the name, she knew. She needed to delete the heart.)_

_She paused, taking another unsteady breath, and stared intently at the screen for a second before she pressed the dial button. _

_"Hi, this is Brittany. Either I'm not available right now or I don't feel like talking to you. Please leave a message and I'll call you back when I'm available again. Unless I don't want to talk to you, then I'm probably not gonna call you back. Okay, bye."_

_She hadn't changed her voicemail. It was still the same message she recorded one afternoon when they were laying on Santana's bed. They laughed when Rachel Berry walked up to Brittany in Glee club a few weeks later and gave her a short lecture on voicemail etiquette. _

_Not leaving a message Santana ended the call, but redialed immediately. _

_"Hi, this is Brittany. Either I'm not available right now or I don't feel like talking to you. Please leave a message and I'll call you back when I'm available again. Unless I don't want to talk to you, then I'm probably not gonna call you back. Okay, bye."_

_Santana ended the call and redialed a third time. She wasn't really calling in the hope that Brittany would answer, but she wanted to savor the opportunity to hear Brittany's voice. To, just for a second, forget where she was and who she was with and remember the way Brittany used to ramble while they drove to school or the way she would whisper in the middle of the night, telling Santana some or other fact that she'd discovered about rainforests._

_There was a short silence after the third ring. "Hi, this is Britt's phone," someone said into the speaker. It was a woman's voice. Her voice was higher than Brittany's, her accent not quite the same. _

_Santana heard the woman laugh into the phone. She sounded a little tipsy. "Hello?" she repeated when Santana didn't answer immediately. _

_Santana swallowed. This time she would be braver. She wouldn't put the phone down. She would be brave and see what happens. "Is Brittany there?" she asked, feeling a little unsure of what would happen if Brittany actually _was_ there. _

_"Hang on," the woman said. _

_She could hear music and muffled voices in the background. It sounded as though they were out somewhere, a club maybe. She heard the woman calling and then calling again. Over the background music Santana heard her say something that sounded a lot like a '_Britt, baby.'_ Santana held the phone a short distance away from her ear so that she wouldn't be able to hear the woman calling again. _

_"Hello?" she heard Brittany say after a few seconds._

_She brought the phone back closer to her ear, not really certain what an appropriate greeting would be after all this time. _

_"Hi," she finally breathed into the mouthpiece. Her voice was soft, so that she wasn't sure if Brittany would even have heard her. "Are you there?" she asked after a couple of seconds. _

_"Yes, I'm here," Brittany said after a moment. Santana heard her exhale before she spoke again. "Hold on a sec," she said._

_Santana could hear her move. It sounded like a door opened and closed and then, suddenly, there was silence. The music and voices in the background were gone and she could hear Brittany letting out a deep breath. _

_"Okay," Brittany finally said. "I'm here."_

_Santana wanted to tell her that that was the problem. That _here_ wasn't were she was. _Here _was the edge of a bathtub in a strange blond woman's apartment. Her fist clenched around the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening, as she thought of all the possible things she could say. Wanted to say._

_"Happy birthday," she simply said. _

_"Thank you,"Brittany said. Santana thought she could hear her smile. Or maybe she just desperately wanted her to smile. To be happy._

_Her mind again ran through all of the things that she wanted to say. That she was sorry for not calling. That she was all right. That she hoped Brittany was happy. _

_She sighed, realizing that more than anything, more than she wanted to tell Brittany anything, she wanted, needed, Brittany to tell her something. She needed Brittany to tell her that it's okay. That she did what she had to do. That she wanted Santana to be happy. As much, as desperately as Santana wanted her to be happy._

_But Brittany kept quiet and Santana could hear nothing but her own heart beating. She felt her heart beat rhythmically like it always was when Brittany was near. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I guess I should go, leave you to-" she started. _

_"How are you?" Brittany suddenly asked. She spoke quickly and sounded anxious, as though she was afraid that Santana might end the call before she got to say everything she wanted to. Maybe she just liked hearing Santana's voice again as well, Santana thought. It made her feel a little better. _

_Santana nodded, even though Brittany wouldn't be able to see her. "I'm okay," she said slowly. "I'm good. You?"_

_"I got a hamster," Brittany said and Santana smiled. _

She got a hamster_. It was the type of thing that Brittany would say after not speaking to or hearing from Santana in a year. Suddenly Santana had the overwhelming urge to ask Brittany a million questions. She wanted to ask how Brittany was doing, what she got for her birthday, what she was doing these days. Did she end up going to college after all? Was she working somewhere? Was she in Lima? Did she ever go back to the places where they always used to go together? Did she ever think about Santana? She wanted to tell Brittany she was okay. Maybe not happy per sé, but that she was doing okay. She wanted to tell Brittany how she ended up in the city, about her classes, about the little music store she discovered near school. She wanted to tell her that she tried to go back to Lima as little as possible and that, whenever she was in town, she mostly stayed at her parents' house, not going out because she was so, so scared that she might run into Brittany. That she'd see her and wouldn't know what to say or do. That she'd see her and be reminded of how beautiful she was. How much she loved her. _

_But she didn't say any of these things. Instead she got up from where she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She briefly glanced over to her reflection in the mirror before looking away again. "Have a good birthday, Britt," she said softly, her voice cracking a little as she said Brittany's name. "And take care of yourself, okay?"_

* * *

Santana leaned back against her headboard on Monday night and clutched the phone between her neck and ear while she slowly painted her nails. It had been eight days, which meant that there were only four more to go.

"Did you have fun camping?" she asked. They hadn't really been able to have a phone conversation since Friday. While Santana was extremely unhappy about the prospect of spending a weekend without talking to Brittany at first, she was pleasantly surprised by Brittany's sexting skills. She'd forgotten how fluently, in a matter of minutes, Brittany had always been able to go from texting about lambs and clouds to writing the most explicit texts, telling Santana that she wanted to tie her up and fuck her slowly.

"It was okay, I guess," Brittany said. "I think I ate a raw potato, but I saw a rainbow."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I mean I can only spend so many hours every year explaining to my dad why nobody wants to swim with him in November. It gets exhausting."

"I bet," Santana said, remembering how Brittany's dad always tried to convince her that swimming in the middle of winter actually heats the body. "It's always been fun though, right? Do you remember that year I went with you guys? I had like the best time!"

"Yeah, I guess it would have been more fun if you were here. Oh, I almost forgot!" Brittany suddenly said, "I got you a present!"

"Really?" She paused and looked at the nail she'd just painted. "I didn't even know that those camping places had gift stores?"

"What?" Brittany sounded confused for a second. "No, I didn't get it this weekend, I got it last week."

"Could you give me a hint?" Santana asked coyly.

"No," Brittany replied bluntly.

"Come on!" she whined. "Why not?"

"Because if I give you one hint, you're going to want another and that's how you always trick me into telling. I'm not saying one more word; you're going to have to wait until you see me this weekend. I can tell you that it's pretty epic though."

Santana sighed. It was true though. She used to always beg for hints whenever Brittany got her something until she could eventually figure out what it was. Brittany used to say that it was 'gift cheating.'

"So I had the most disturbing conversation with Finn the other day," Santana changed the subject. She'd been meaning to talk to Brittany about it, but since they hadn't really talked on the phone since Thursday she had had no opportunity. Still, Finn's words replayed over and over in the back of her mind. She kept picturing Finn and Brittany together, some weirdly mismatched pair of friends, and wondering why Brittany wouldn't have mentioned anything.

"Who?" Brittany asked as though she'd never heard the name before.

"Brittany ..." Santana said sternly.

She heard Brittany huff. "So what did Phineas have to say for himself?"

"Well," she said as she closed the bottle of nail polish and took the phone into her hand, "he said that he was surprised by the fact that you were kinda mean to him, because he said you guys used to be friends. He said that he helped you to see that I wasn't good for you and that you were better off with someone else."

"Did I tell you that I saw a baby sloth on the Discovery channel the other day?" Brittany suddenly asked.

"Britt -" Santana began again.

"I think I want one," she went on, "I looked it up online and it's pretty expensive though. I could get one for $4900 right now, so I think I'm just gonna keep a close eye on the market and hope that there's a dip soon."

"Brittany, stop changing the subject," Santana said seriously.

"I wasn't," Brittany said. She sounded rather unconvincing.

"Yes, you were," Santana looked over to her half-closed door to try and see if Rachel was around. "Is it true? Did Finn really tell you all of those things?" There was silence as she waited for Brittany to respond. "Britt?" she finally said after half a minute or so.

"Yeah, he did," Brittany said slowly. "He said that you were a mean person and that I was just blinded by, like, hormones or something and that I'd be better off with someone who is more like me. He thought that I was just really influenced by you and that's why I stayed with you. Because I wanted to be more like you or something. I don't know; it didn't really make a lot of sense. Especially because you had such a crappy senior year. I mean, why would anyone have wanted to have your life? Like you kinda got a raw deal, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Santana whispered.

"He wanted me to date some of his friends, because they would be more like me. You know," she paused for a moment, "stupid."

"You're not stupid," Santana said adamantly.

"I know," Brittany said. "I know that now. I told Finn that I didn't need him to find me someone and that I was fine by myself. He showed up with a couple of guys once or twice. I don't know if he thought that I wouldn't notice what he was doing. I ended up going on one date with his friend Frankie."

"You did?"

"Yeah, he bought me a hotdog and then tried to slip his hand under my dress so I kicked him. For obvious reasons there wasn't a second date." Santana gave a little chuckle before Brittany asked, "Do you have your laptop with you?"

"Yeah, why?" Santana said, looking over to the laptop on her desk.

"I'm sending you an email," Brittany said casually.

"But you're already talking to me. Can't you just say whatever it is?"

"Stop being such a know-it-all and check your email," Brittany simply said.

"Okay, just hold on a minute," Santana said as she quickly grabbed her laptop and returned to the bed. "Okay, just hold on, I'm checking it now."

She waited until the laptop had started up and then quickly opened her email. There were a couple of emails from school, one that looked a lot like spam and, at the very top, a message from Brittany.

"What is this?" she asked as she opened the email. She quickly let her eyes scan over the page, catching only a few words here and there. Dates in December. Columbus. A flight number. "Britt, you can't do this," she said, staring at the itinerary.

"Of course I can!" Brittany exclaimed.

"Is this the gift?" Santana asked while still staring at the screen. "Cause really, it's too much."

"Well, no," Brittany said, "technically speaking this isn't the gift."

"Britt, really," Santana said as she closed her laptop again. "I know that sometimes I talk a great deal about how I need to be treated like J Lo with bling and fur coats and favors and things, but you know that I don't actually expect this from you, right?"

"Don't you want to visit me?" Brittany said, "I promise not to take you to any zoos. And I'll clean up my place and buy flowers and I'll cook you dinner and everything."

"Of course I want to visit you! I'd love to; this just feels like ..." she searched for words for a few seconds, "really big."

"Come on, Santana, it will be awesome."

"I'm sure it would be awesome, it's just that I don't want you to feel like you have to keep giving me things to keep me happy."

"It's not like that, I swear. You've been hanging out with Rachel and Finn and their dysfunctional relationship way too much. Just consider it me paying you back."

"Paying me back? What for?"

"That one morning after I had just arrived and I still found the city really confusing and you helped me, remember? And I said I owed you one, so ..."

"I gave you directions to the subway. This is a plane ticket to fly halfway across the country."

"Okay, first of all you obviously spent way too much time in high school staring at me instead of concentrating in Geography, because it is absolutely not halfway across the country. And second of all, you're my girlfriend now, so I'm allowed to do nice things for you. So would you just shut up and allow me to do that? And also, you might like to know this: it's part of your Christmas present, but I couldn't wait until Christmas to give it to you, because Rachel said you had the week before Christmas off and you obviously have to plan and stuff."

"I'm your girlfriend?" Santana asked, ignoring everything else Brittany had said.

"Well," Brittany said playfully, "given the things that we've done over the last couple of weeks I would say that you're either my girlfriend or my fuck buddy. And I'm not really a fuck buddy type of girl anymore, so I prefer girlfriend."

Santana bit her bottom lip and smiled. "I prefer girlfriend, too."

* * *

_For the most part she'd gotten used to it. The unfamiliar street names didn't seem so unfamiliar anymore. She knew that the guy who worked at the pizza place had a crush on the girl who worked at the coffee place. She knew which librarian would let her off the hook if her books were late. It had been almost a year since she last got lost. Sometimes she still stopped for a moment, looked around and reminded herself that she no longer had to get her morning coffee from the Lima Bean, but, for the most part, she had pretty much settled into city life. She liked the fact that nobody from her high school went to her school. She liked how she could go out and not be the only lesbian in clubs. She loved how she no longer felt like a small town girl._

_She walked out of the campus cafeteria balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and clutching a couple of books under her arm when her phone rang. Feeling rather annoyed she switched the cup of coffee from one hand to the other while shaking her bag a little in search of her phone. Finally giving up on finding her phone while holding the cup of coffee, her bag, and her books, she walked a few steps to the nearest bench and sat her books down next to her. She pulled her phone out of the bag and quickly glanced the screen before bringing it to her ear to listen to her voicemail. _

_"Hi, Santana, it's Amanda. I just went through my drawer and I'm missing a pair of panties. I'm not saying that you took them, but if you have them or took them by mistake could you please return them before I get home tonight. This isn't because you're ... you know ... that way. But I would appreciate it nonetheless if you could stay away from my underwear."_

_Santana grunted. Her roommate was probably her least favorite thing about living in the city. Out of all the millions of possible roommates she could have had, she ended up sharing the world's tiniest apartment with a Southern Baptist who usually spent her Sunday mornings obnoxiously mumbling to herself about the sins of the flesh before having unimaginably loud sex with her Bangladeshi boyfriend, Ashik. She also regularly accused Santana of stealing random items of clothing and once called the police because she was convinced that Santana spent her nights running a crystal meth lab._

_"Crazy fucking bitch," Santana mumbled as the picked up her books again and walked out of the campus. _

_She slowly walked down the street, cell phone in hand, trying to decide whether she should let her roommate believe that she was actually stealing her underwear or whether she should just send her a text and tell her to go to hell. _

_"Santana?"_

_Five weeks later she would wish that she hadn't stopped. She would wish that, when she heard her name, she had just turned her head and continued walking. That she'd kept walking and had gone straight home to her paranoid roommate. But when she heard her name, she spontaneously looked up. Turning her head she looked around to see who had called her. She gave a step closer when she saw a vaguely familiar figure sitting on the curb. _

_"Rachel?"she said a little incredulously. _

_Her eyes narrowed a little as she took in the sight in front of her. Rachel Berry was sitting flat on the ground, a pair of furry brown teddy bear-like pants sticking out from under her coat. On her feet she wore what looked like furry covers, complete with toes, over a pair of boots. It looked like it might have been part of a Halloween costume, only it was already mid- February. Over her lap she held what Santana supposed was the top half of the costume. _

_Santana slowly stepped, observing Rachel with a frown. Her face was red and a little swollen. _

_"I've never been happier to see you," Rachel said and wiped away a tear with an enormous white handkerchief that she produced from somewhere._

_"Yeah," Santana nodded her head unenthusiastically. "Likewise, Berry, likewise."_

_Not getting up from where she was sitting, Rachel looked up at Santana and smiled. She held up a small paper bag. "Do you want a pistachio?"_

_"I'm cool, thanks," Santana said, still not sure what exactly Rachel Berry was doing sitting on the sidewalk of a busy street dressed like a Muppet and eating nuts. Maybe she could just turn around and run. Her heels were rather flat, so she would probably be able to get away quickly. But then she saw Rachel's chin tremble and the way she tried to wipe tears away unnoticed. So she stood still on the spot, simply staring at the crying girl. "Are you crying?" she eventually asked. _

_"No," Rachel sobbed and shook her head vehemently. _

_Santana sighed and quickly looked around. Then she put her bag on the ground and sat down on the bag next to Rachel. "Berry, why are you crying?"_

_Rachel simply let her head fall onto Santana's shoulder, crying hysterically. Santana patted her back uncomfortably a few times and looked around to try and see whether anyone she knew was around._

_"I'm crying," Rachel eventually said, regaining a little composure, "because I'm Baby Bear. I had foolishly assumed that, given my immense talent and natural stage presence, I would at least be an Eponine or a Christine by now." She paused to blow her noise loudly. "Or an understudy at the very least. But instead I'm stuck in this suit day after day. Do you know how many lines I have, Santana?" She put the paper bag down and held up three fingers. "Three! I have three lines and one of them consists of two words. Two! 'O no!' That's my line, Santana."_

_Santana stared at the crying girl next to her for a second. She was oddly amazed by how little she had seemingly changed. And by how it was possible to run into Rachel after almost three years and everything was almost exactly the same. She might as well have been sitting in the choir room listening to Rachel complain about how Mr. Shue gave Tina the solo she wanted. It felt strangely comforting to know that some things were still the same. That some people hadn't changed. _

_"Look, Berry," she said, trying to think of something to say that might comfort Rachel a little. "I feel for you, I really do. But it's tough for everyone out there. I mean, you're still young, right?" Rachel nodded and looped her arm though Santana's, shuffling a little closer to her. Santana looked around uncomfortably again before she continued, "And let's be honest, it's not like you were ever going to be a Megan Fox or something." Seeing a hurt look appear on Rachel's face she quickly added, "I just mean, that you're not the type of actress who is only employable while you're in your early twenties and then disappears as soon as you don't make FHM's Hot 100, are you?"_

_Rachel pursed her lips as she frowned, seemingly thinking about what Santana said. Then she nodded. "It's true that I do have the more mature presence of a Meryl Streep or a Judy Dench, perhaps even an older Julie Andrews."_

_"See? You're totally gonna make it one day!" Santana said, hoping that Rachel wouldn't recognize her fake optimism. _

_"Do you really think so?" Rachel asked and turned to look at her. _

_Remembering a soaked Rachel Berry on her doorstep three years ago, a tray of cookies in her hand, Santana felt a rare surge of affection towards Rachel Berry and her mouth grow into a smile. "Totally," she said. _

_"Do you want to know why else I was crying?"_

_"You were crying about more than one thing?" Santana asked. _

_"Well," Rachel went on without really answering the question, "as you might have read in the New Directions Alumni letter that I send out biannually, I've spent the last two years sharing an apartment with Melissa. I met her two years ago at a Barbra tribute concert and she really is the most wonderful person - although I will say that her talent does not quite match my own. It worked brilliantly because she mostly kept to herself except for the few occasions that she would join in a duet or two."_

_"Wait, back up a little!" Santana said as she moved a couple of inches away from Rachel. "'The New Directions Alum' what?"_

_Rachel narrowed her eyes and frowned. "My biannual New Directions Alumni newsletters. Have you not been getting my emails?"_

_"What?" Santana shook her head. "I mean, like, where did you even get my email address?"_

_"You gave it to me, remember?" Rachel said as thought it was quite obvious. "On the last day of Glee club I sent around my note book and everyone wrote down their phone numbers, email addresses and forwarding addresses."_

_Santana's eyes widened a little as she remembered their last day in Glee club when Rachel eagerly spoke about the importance of friendship and keeping in touch. She looked down, feeling a little guilty. "Oh yeah, silly forgetful me. That was totally my real email address."_

_"Maybe there's been some kind of problem with the server or something," Rachel said obliviously. "I'll send you an email tonight just to be sure. I've actually been meaning to send everyone copies of my latest recordings. It's a collection of mid-1960's adult contemporary numbers and I really think I might be on to something with the arrangement thereof."_

_Santana smiled as Rachel babbled on about music and theatre and for a short while, she enjoyed the feeling of familiarity that Rachel's ramblings brought with them. _

_It was four and a half weeks later when she sat on her unmade bed in her new room, looking at the boxes that still needed to be unpacked, and suddenly had no idea why she would ever have thought that Rachel might be even the least bit tolerable. Thinking back, she was convinced that her sudden feelings of affection towards Rachel, and her inability to see that it was probably a bad idea to move in with Rachel, had everything to do with PMS and absolutely nothing to do with Rachel being a more tolerable person now than she was in high school. _

_Because she wasn't. Rachel Berry, it turned out, was every bit as annoying now as she was in high school. She was nosy and had absolutely no understanding of personal space. She began singing even before the sun was up and only stopped when she literally couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. And, as Santana – to her horror - found out: Rachel came with Kurt Hummel in tow. Kurt, who was every bit as gay and glittery as she remembered, popped in at all times of the day, often times leading to horrible duets that lasted several hours. _

_But there wasn't much that she could do about this lapse of judgment now. She'd already blackmailed Amanda into getting out of their lease, so she had no other place to go as Ashik moved in even before all of Santana's things were out of the apartment. She'd also signed a lease with Rachel and, feeling the slightest bit of loyalty, she wouldn't have the heart to screw Berry over by breaking the contract. The rent was also slightly cheaper in the long run, which Santana argued, might eventually make up for Rachel's enormous mouth._

_"I thought that we could have a short introductory house meeting later this week," Rachel said as she walked into Santana's room without knocking. "I'm free on Monday and Thursday evenings or on Wednesday mornings, so whichever suits you better. I've also drafted a tentative set of house rules that we can go over and finalize when we meet. Nothing serious – I don't like the idea of living under some sort of self-imposed dictatorship – just a few guidelines to ensure that everything runs smoothly and everyone knows where they stand. I have a tentative list of thirty eight rules right now, but I think that we should try to narrow it down to down to no more than thirty."_

_"Yes," Santana replied sarcastically, "because anything more than thirty rules would just be excessive."_

_"Exactly! So please check your schedule and let me know when you're free." Rachel said excitedly. "Kurt and I are going to go and explore – according to the lady who lives in 207 there is a new karaoke bar that opened just a block or so down the road. Although I've always thought karaoke to be for those who are less vocally skilled than a person such as myself, I'm still taking it as a sign that this neighborhood is finally realizing the importance of music and the arts. I'm hoping it's, at least in part, because of the flyers I've been handing out the last couple of months. Perhaps I could even help some of the other singers with some vocal techniques and create a better listening experience for everyone." She paused for a second and sat down on the bed next to Santana. "I was wondering if you'd like to accompany us. I'm aware that your vocal abilities are not quite as outstanding as my own, but I think you'll agree that you're more than able to hold your own and I'd love to sing a duet with you. As a type of symbolic sign of our newly intertwined lives."_

_Santana slapped her hands against her knees and then stood up from the bed. "Our lives aren't intertwined, Berry," she said, walking over to the window. "I'm not your best friend. I don't want to hang out with you. I don't want to sing with you. As a matter of fact, I would prefer not really speaking to you. So let's just sort this out right now, shall we? I am living here because it's conveniently close to school, it's cheap and it means that I don't have to regularly listen to a crazy Biology major named Amanda explain to me what her morning stool looked like after going through my drawers to see if I'd recently stolen any of her oversized underwear." She closed her eyes for a moment as Rachel got up from the bed and stood opposite her. "I'm not here because I suddenly realized how much I've missed you and now want to be your bestie. Neither am I here to be some kind of backup vocalist for these little impromptu performances you and your lady friend Hummel seem to like so much. Good?"_

_"As you wish," Rachel said, straightening her back a little. "And since you seem to have no qualms about reducing our friendship to a business-like arrangement of sorts I won't bother to tell you what time I'll be in. And if I stay out late, I probably won't text you to tell you not to worry."_

_"I'll be right here, waiting on the edge of my seat," Santana called as Rachel turned around and walked out the door. _

_"Goodnight, Santana," Rachel simply called back._

_She looked around the room for a second after Rachel left. There were boxes everywhere, the desk stood cramped against a chair in the corner. She waited until she heard the front door close behind Rachel before she ventured out of her room. She'd wanted to explore the apartment earlier, but every time she showed any interest in looking around Rachel popped up and started giving her impromptu lectures about the architecture and history of the building, so she'd mostly been staying in her room, paging through old books and magazines._

_She walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge, pulling open the drawers and familiarizing herself with everything. Not really finding anything of interest she walked into the living room. It was neat without much decor. There was a television and sound system in one corner, as well as every Broadway and West End CD to ever be produced. Making a mental note to get some posters or something to lighten the place up a little, she continued to look around. There was a couch next to the door that led to what seemed like the world's smallest balcony and two chairs. She slumped down on the armrest of one of the chairs and looked around, trying to decide what to do next. She slowly got up as her eye caught the stairs leading to Rachel's room. She carefully approached the stairs, cautiously glancing towards the front door, before quickly making her way up._

_She looked around the room with an amused look on her face. The walls were mostly covered with Playbills, except for the wall behind Rachel's bed and bedside table, where Santana saw several framed photos. She stepped closer – her eye not missing Rachel's copy of _The Secret_, complete with several bookmarks and notes sticking out of the pages, on the small table – to have a closer look. There were several pictures of Rachel and Finn together. One of them at a football match, one of them on a giant teacup. There was a picture of Rachel and Finn with what looked like a group of friends, a photo of Rachel and her dads, and a couple with Rachel and Kurt and some other gay looking people. _

_In the left hand corner, almost at the very bottom, a picture suddenly caught Santana's attention. It looked old and one of the corners had a small tear in it. She let her hand run over the photo. It was all of the Glee club girls: Rachel, Tina, Quinn, Mercedes, and at the back, their heads closely together and arms wrapped around each other, Brittany and Santana. She remembered the day it was taken. It was just before Regionals in their senior year and Rachel had brought a camera to rehearsal to take pictures for some scrapbook project. They had laughed when Kurt took the picture; and remained sitting like that, arms wrapped around one another, even after the pictures were taken until Rachel dragged Brittany away to pose with Mike and Puck. _

_Still staring intently at the photo in front of her, Santana hesitated only a moment before taking it down from the wall. She carefully walked back to her room, making double sure that Rachel hadn't come home without her noticing. Her room seemed cold and uninviting. Nothing but her name scribbled across some of the boxes indicated that it was her room. She walked over to the window and looked at the photo again. She saw her own smiling face, her eyes laughing. Next to her Brittany was wearing the red uniform Santana knew so well. Her hair was in a high pony, her eyes not looking directly at the camera as she smiled. _

_It was exactly the way Santana remembered her. _

_She walked over to her bed and carefully set the photo down. Then she pulled out her phone and scrolled down. Down to the name with the little heart next to it._

_She picked up after a couple of rings. _

_"Santana." It wasn't a question. Brittany had to know that it was her calling. It made her feel strangely happy to know that Brittany either still had her number saved or that she still recognized it. _

_She wasn't sure what to say. She didn't really know why she had called. Just to hear her voice, she supposed. She wanted to know if it still sounded the same. If Brittany still sounded like Brittany. _

_"Hi," she said weakly and wondered if she still sounded the same. _

_Brittany kept quiet for a couple of seconds and then Santana heard her take a deep breath before she spoke. She sounded serious. Determined. "You have to stop doing this, Santana. Please." Her voice sounded a little shaken and trembled as she continued, "Don't ... Please don't phone me again."_

_Santana's felt her throat tighten, but she didn't say anything. Her heart was beating fast. It wasn't the rhythmic beat it always fell into when she spoke to Brittany. _

_"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Brittany asked when Santana didn't say anything. "You have to stop doing this to me. And to yourself. You can't just do this every other year or whatever, it hurts too much. Please. Please don't."_

_Santana swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I'm so sorry."_

_She ended the call without waiting for another response and quickly scrolled down again. When she found the name, the name with the little heart next to it, she hesitated only a second before she let her finger tap down and press the 'delete' button. _

* * *

Thank you, TinyFi311; thank you, Ryan47; thank you, NoobNoMo.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's note: It's been too long and I apologize for that. Thank you beta people.

**Chapter 15**

When she got a text on Wednesday simply saying _I really, really want to fuck you right now_, she wondered if she would survive the next two days.

And when Kurt promptly grabbed her phone from her hands, made a noise she never thought was humanly possible and ran up the stairs to Rachel's room, reading texts Brittany had sent over the last couple of days aloud, she wondered if he and Rachel would survive the next two days.

It was true that she had trouble controlling her temper around them at the best of times, but during the last couple of weeks she'd noticed that the longer Brittany was away, the shorter her temper became. Brittany had been away for eleven days, which meant that she was ready to murder either Kurt or Rachel (she had no preference really) without so much as a second thought.

She climbed the stairs slowly. Through the closed door she could hear Kurt giggle – god, he really was a seven year old girl – while Rachel said something about repercussions and regrets and murder weapons in a loud whisper.

"Kurt Hummel, if you would like to have a prosperous future with a flaming man-wife and two designer Chihuahuas, I suggest that you open this door right this minute, keep your hands where I can see them and carefully slide my phone towards me."

"I don't think so, Santana." He was obviously feeling brave. "I think I'm gonna hold on to it a little longer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," he yelled through the closed door. "As a matter of fact, you're texting Brittany right now to ask her how she would feel about you having a sex change."

She banged her fist against the door. "For fuck's sakes, Kurt!" she shouted, hearing Rachel shriek on the other side.

"Berry?" she called after a second or two.

"I have nothing to do with this, Santana," Rachel called. "I was just busy with some vocal exercises when Kurt stormed in here and locked the door and started reading all of these vulgar text messages and then-"

"Okay, first of all, it's not vulgar, it's how grown-ups talk and one day, when you're all grown up, you'll understand. And second of all, I know you had nothing to do with the pixie taking my phone, but he's in your room right now and that means that you're implicated. And if I have to kill both of you I'll only have three bodies to go before I technically qualify as a serial killer and I'm sure none of us want that."

"I don't want to live with a serial killer," Rachel said in a panicky voice.

"I know you don't, Berry, and all you have to do to avoid that is convince Hummel to open the door and give me my phone." She waited a few seconds before she added, "Come on, Kurt, give it back and I'll go easy on you. I'll even give you a five second running start so you'll have some chance at survival."

"But we were just getting to the juicy bits," Kurt whined. "She wants to lick whipped cream off your -"

"I swear to god, Kurt," she banged against the door again and felt herself blush. "I keep a small bottle of formalin at the back of my closet for emergencies. I'll cut off your teeny little twink balls, pickle them with some bay leaves in a glass jar and then sell them to that crazy woman who's always trying to trade those geese at the park!"

She stood against the door a while longer, trying to make out the hushed arguing she could hear going on, before she realized that it was probably futile and headed downstairs to email Brittany. There would be a lot of time later, after all, to kill Kurt Hummel.

* * *

She didn't kill Kurt. In fact, he got away lightly, with her only managing to flick a couple of marshmallows against his head. She was, however, very close to murdering the sophomore who was sitting across from her in the library. His name was Michael Townsend and she had spent most of her Friday afternoon trying to explain to him why it was necessary to use proper methods of referencing.

It was now 7:23 p.m. and he still had the same vague uncomprehending expression that he had when they started almost four hours ago. Her phone had already vibrated in her pocket three times, but in between trying to explain Harvard and Chicago methods, she hadn't managed to do more than send a simple text to Brittany saying that she'd be there as soon as she could. At 7:45 p.m. she slammed her books shut and declared that the kid had better stopped consulting tutors and start consulting God, because that was really his only hope.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she stepped into the apartment twenty minutes later. "I was trying to knock some sense into some kid whose parents clearly should've given up on him several years ago and gotten him a job as a janitor or baseball mascot or something."

Brittany was sitting on the couch. "I was starting to get worried," she said as she put down the magazine she was paging through.

"I know," Santana replied and gave her a quick peck. "I'm so, so sorry. Didn't you get my text though?"

"I did," Brittany nodded with a solemn expression.

"I'm so fucking exhausted!" Santana threw her bag onto the couch next to Brittany's backpack. "Are my ears deceiving me or do I _not_ hear the annoying sounds of a vocally challenged hobbit?"

"Rachel's at Kurt's. I told her I'd give her $30 and a pack of Israeli cucumbers if she didn't come back 'till after 11 tomorrow morning." Brittany gave a step towards her and ran a thumb over her cheek. "Why don't you go change into something more comfortable," Brittany nodded towards the bedroom. "I'll be there in a second."

Her room looked different than she left it this morning. The bed, which she had left messy as she hurried to fit in a second cup of coffee before she had to leave, was neatly made. The blinds were pulled down and there were a couple of lit candles on the window sill. Unfamiliar music, a woman singing jazzy tones in a husky voice, softly filled the room.

"Britt?" she called as she continued to look around the room. The books and papers that had been scattered on her desk had been pushed aside to make room for more candles. On the edge of her desk she saw a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Hi," Brittany suddenly said from the door and Santana spun around.

Santana's eyes narrowed slightly as her eyes glanced over Brittany. She had taken off the sweater she was wearing before, as well as her shoes and pants. An oversized white button down shirt hung loosely around her, a black tie around her neck.

"Britt, what -" Santana started.

"Take off your clothes," Brittany simply cut her off, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt to her elbows.

"What's going on?" she asked, a little unsure as she glanced at the candles around the room and then back to Brittany.

Brittany's eyes looked dark, her expression serious, but only for a fleeting moment. A hint of a smile played around one of her mouth corners. Then it was gone and she was frowning, biting her lower lip. "I said, take off your clothes and sit on the bed." She flicked off the lights and took a step into the room before adding, "I'm not going to tell you again."

Santana hesitated a second, throwing a questioning look Brittany's way. Brittany stood a few feet from the door, her shirt hanging down to cover the tops of her thighs, running her fingers over her tie. She stood still, intently staring at Santana.

Santana waited. Waited for Brittany to do something else. Say something more. But she stood silently, her eyes never leaving Santana. She waited for another moment and then, as Brittany continued to silently watch her, her hands moved down to slowly pull her shirt over her head. She quickly glanced up to Brittany's face as she dropped her shirt onto the floor. There was a slight twinkle in her eyes and then it was gone, but Santana knowingly smirked nonetheless as she slowly stepped out of her jeans and kicked them aside.

Now only in her underwear, she placed her hands on her hips, giving Brittany a challenging look. She was sizing Brittany up, trying to establish exactly what kind of game it was that they were playing. The idea of losing, even if it was against Brittany, didn't sit well with her.

Brittany swallowed before tipping her head in the direction of Santana's remaining garments. "Everything," she said firmly, the slight frown still visible between her eyes.

Santana took her time moving her hands to unhook her bra. She paused, shooting Brittany another look, before she slowly took off her underwear and threw it across the room carelessly. She sat back onto the bed, pushed her chest out a little and crossed her legs. Throwing Brittany a seductive smile, she scanned her demeanor for any clues. For something that would betray her; that would tell Santana that her heart was beating erratically and that she, too, felt lightheaded. But her expression remained serious, her eyes narrowed and hooded.

Santana ran a hand upwards and pulled the clip from her hair, allowing dark waves to fall onto her shoulders. There was a slight movement. Brittany's hand moved to her neck, her legs shifting a little.

"Sit back," Brittany said, nodding her head in the direction of the bed. She traced two fingers along her own neck as she watched Santana scoot back.

Like Santana had done moments before, Brittany seemed to be moving _intentionally_ slow, seductively, her oversized shirt pulling up the slightest bit with every step she took. In another time Santana would have laughed at Brittany's obvious attempt to excite her. At the way she deliberately moved her hips, the way she threw her head back a bit. If she hadn't been sitting on her bed, naked, and if it wasn't Brittany who was prowling across the room, she would have thought that the whole thing was quite tacky. As though it was a scene from one of the erotic movies that she sometimes came across in the early hours of Saturday mornings; the kind that not even hormonal teenage boys would find remotely sexy.

But it _was_ Brittany who was making her way towards the bed and climbing onto it, a look of determination causing a slight crease between her eyes. If it wasn't _Brittany_, Santana would have thought that it was silly and overly dramatic But then Brittany positioned herself so that she was straddling Santana, her inner thighs pushing against Santana's lower abdomen. And Santana suddenly couldn't think of a single reason why anybody wouldn't consider this one of the hottest moments they'd ever seen. She leaned back, closing her eyes as she rested her head against a pillow, and slowly ran a hand up Brittany's leg. Feeling a trail of goose bumps forming under her fingers, she moved her hand a little so that she was caressing the inside of Brittany's thigh. She bit her lip and let her hand travel a little further, a little higher.

She lifted her head slightly up when she felt Brittany firmly grabbing her wrist; pulling it away from her leg, away from the trail of goose bumps. Pushing her arm down, pinning it down next to her body against the mattress, Brittany lowered her head to slowly pull Santana into a kiss that left Santana whimpering when she pulled away after only a couple of seconds.

She groaned as Brittany laughed – a low throaty giggle – and gripped her wrist a little harder. Santana lifted her head, reaching to try and recapture Brittany's mouth, bringing her free hand up to cup Brittany's cheek. But Brittany caught her hand mid-air and pushed back so that both of Santana's arms were pinned back above her head. Using one hand to hold her arms down, Brittany let her other hand trail down the center of Santana's bare chest, carefully avoiding her breasts. Her fingers drew light, feathery circles for a couple of seconds before she leaned down and placed a soft kiss against Santana's shoulder. Santana felt Brittany's hand firmly keep its hold on both of her wrists as her other hand shot up, pulling at the tie around her neck. Santana's breathing became more uneven as Brittany pulled the tie loose and leaned over.

So this was the game.

She felt the silky tie being wrapped around her wrists and her mouth curved into a smile. She knew what the game was and she knew that Brittany would win.

Brittany was wrapping a silk tie around her wrists and her thighs were pressing against Santana's hipbones and losing had never felt so good.

She took a shallow breath. "What are you doing?" She knew. She knew exactly what Brittany was doing, but asked nonetheless.

She felt her arms being pulled a little higher up as she heard Brittany pull a knot tight and presumably wrap the other end of the tie around the headboard. "I'm tying you up," Brittany only said once she'd finished and sat back again.

Santana pulled at the constraint around her arms. Just to see; just to test it. The silk around her wrist pulled a little tighter and she heard the headboard lightly bang against the wall as she relaxed her arms again.

"Why?"

Brittany shrugged. "Because I can." She gave a devilish grin and outlined the curve of one of Santana's breasts with an index finger. "And because I've missed you and I want to show you how much." Brittany lowered her head as though leaning in for another kiss. Instead of kissing her however, she lowered herself more so that her mouth was pressed against Santana's ear. "And because I really want to fuck you," Brittany whispered, her lips ghosting along her neck, "hard."

If it had been anyone else she would have stopped them. Had it been anybody but Brittany, she would have told them to untie her. She would have felt uncomfortable. Exposed. Vulnerable. Had it been anyone else, the out-of-control feeling that made her chest feel tight and her heart race a little faster would have been too much. She would have felt panicky. Claustrophobic.

But it was Brittany.

It was Brittany who was sitting astride her, hips gently rocking into her, slowly unbuttoning her white shirt.

Santana watched, mesmerized, while Brittany took her time with each button. A shiver ran though her body and she canted her hips forward when Brittany loosened the last button. It still covered most of her upper body, only revealing the curves of her breasts and firm abs. She held her breath, patiently waiting for Brittany to slip it off.

Instead, however, she was surprised by the sudden absence of the feeling of Brittany rocking into her. She craned her neck to watch Brittany scoot back and climb off the bed. She pursed her lips together, her eyes silently traveling down Brittany's body as she moved.

Brittany stood beside the bed. Santana could see her chest noticeably rise and fall with every breath as she stood and silently watched. Her nipples were now clearly visible through the white shirt, a slight flush covering her face and neck. She brought her hands up so that, for a second, Santana thought she would pull the material covering her chest and shoulders away, but then her hands sunk lower. Her bottom lip curled into a grin as her hands briefly paused, thumbs hooking onto the lace, and looked down at her own body before she stepped out of her thong and threw it aside. Without turning around, she traveled a few steps back and reached for the bottle of wine that stood on the desk. She took her time to pour a glass of wine, before slowly moving to the corner chair. Her face seemed almost unreadable, as though she was lost in thought, when she sat down and took a sip.

Santana shifted her legs a little, not really knowing if Brittany expected her to do or say anything. A quiet Brittany made her feel a little awkward. Brittany was very seldom quiet. "Pinot Noir," Santana eventually said in an attempt to distract herself from the fact that she was tied to her bed, while her half naked girlfriend simply sat by, curiously watching her. "I didn't know you were a red wine girl now."

Brittany tilted her head as though surprised by Santana's words. She gave a quick smile. "I'm totally classy like that."

Then Brittany's expression turned serious again. She leaned back into the chair, bringing her feet up onto the seat. She moved her feet a little towards the corners of the chair, parting her knees.

Trying to not be too obvious, Santana craned her neck a little to get a better view. Brittany took another sip, parting her legs a little more. If she lifted her head just an inch more, Santana knew, she would see Brittany, naked but for the shirt that now barely covered her breasts, sitting a few feet away from her with her legs spread while she casually sipped her wine. But moving her head more would really be too obvious, so she lay still, content with the knowledge that Brittany was there, naked, and would come back to the bed sooner or later.

She patiently watched Brittany. The way she brought the glass to her lips. The way she allowed a single droplet of wine to trickle down her chin. The way she tilted her head. Brittany's movements were flowing, yet determined. As though every sip of wine, every slight movement of her legs, every tilt of her head was carefully choreographed.

Santana was a good enough dancer. She could hold her own and probably outdo most other people. But Brittany, Brittany didn't simply dance. She moved with precision, in time to the music that only she could hear, drawing everyone around her into her performance. She moved seductively. And as she watched her cross and then immediately uncrossed her legs and played with an index finger around the rim of her glass, Santana was sure that Brittany wasn't simply sitting around figuring out what to do next.

She was dancing. She was skillfully dancing around Santana, luring her into a godly routine. Every movement was intentional. Lightly resting her right hand on her knee. Throwing her head back and lightly stoking her neck with her left hand. The way she tilted her glass towards her lips, pausing for a moment when her eyes met Santana's.

Santana wondered for a second if she would ever be able to keep up. To follow Brittany's lead and not fumble the steps that Brittany seemed to know so well.

Brittany's voice was thick and dark when she spoke. Her hand moved from her knee to her thigh. "You look so hot."

Santana raised an eyebrow. The tie around her wrists pulled tighter when she tried to raise her upper body from the bed. She sighed in a resigned fashion, but brought her head up after a moment, trying to catch Brittany's eye. "Why don't you come over here and untie me and I'll show you how hot I can be?" she said in a last ditch effort.

Brittany chuckled and took another sip of her wine. She looked at the glass in her hand for a long time - enough time for Santana to count to twelve Mississippi and wonder if she would survive the evening - swirling her wine around, before she finally got up from the chair.

Her hips moved to the rhythm of the softly playing music when she stood up and moved over to the bed, the mattress slightly dipping under her weight as she crawled onto it. Leaning over, her skin brushing against Santana's, she put the glass down on the bedside table.

Santana closed her eyes when she felt a hand on her knee, gently pushing her legs apart. She felt Brittany's weight pressing onto her for a second as Brittany climbed over her and sat between her legs, hands resting on Santana's thighs.

She shivered when Brittany lowered her head and swiftly ran her tongue along Santana's collarbone. "You really think it'll be that easy, baby?" she asked as she moved her mouth lower. Over the crook of her neck. To the skin just above Santana breasts. Santana pushed her torso upwards, trying to bring her body closer to Brittany's mouth.

She whimpered when she felt Brittany's lips close around one of her nipples. "Fuck, Britt."

Brittany brought her head up and took a second to reposition herself so that she was straddling Santana again. Only this time she wasn't wearing any underwear and her shirt was unbuttoned to reveal milky skin and lightly freckled abs, the curves of her breast disappearing behind the white fabric.

Santana watched as Brittany let a hand gently stroke over her breasts and stomach. She searched for Brittany's eyes. They were slightly darker than usual, a deep blue color, looking at her as though it was the first time that she had ever seen Santana naked. "You make me so wet," she said and rocked her hips into Santana before she let her hand disappear into the small space between them.

Santana's breath caught in her throat, her chest shakily moving up and down, when Brittany's hand re-appeared a couple of seconds later, wet fingers trailing up her body. Brittany gradually ran her hand up until her fingers stopped half an inch from Santana's lips.

"Jesus," Santana breathed in. Brittany watched her closely, briefly pushing two fingers against Santana's mouth and then running her fingers down her neck before resting a hand on her chest.

Santana opened her eyes when she felt Brittany's pelvis pushing down against her body in a slow circular motion. Brittany's movements halted when she spoke. "Do you want to feel what you do to me?"

"Oh my god." She canted her hips forward, trying to move in rhythm with Brittany's movements.

"Do you?" Brittany asked, hugging Santana's body with her thighs.

When Brittany began to steadily rock into her again, Santana simply let her head fall back onto the pillow, drinking the feeling of Brittany's body on top on hers as though she had never before had a naked Brittany sitting astride her, teasing and taunting her. It was familiar and yet strangely new and she was sure that she would die when Brittany leaned forward and looked straight into her eyes.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

She knew that the knot wouldn't come loose – and she didn't want it to, not _really _– but she pulled at the restraints that held her arms in place above her head nonetheless. Brittany's face was still right there, a few inches away from hers, blonde hair hanging over her face, a determined expression on her face. "Fuck," she huffed through clenched teeth.

Brittany frowned as she pulled back and sat up a little. "That's not a very polite way of answering, you know," she said, gently tracing circles around one of Santana's nipples.

She took a deep breath as she felt Brittany's hand move a little lower, pausing on her stomach. It took a few seconds for her to be sure that she could speak. "Yes," she said in an almost whisper. "Please."

Brittany raised a brow. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Brittany," she said, this time a little louder. "Please. Just ... fuck. Please."

Brittany smirked at her before she lowered her hand. Santana could feel her fingertips ghosting along her legs and up her thighs. For a moment Santana wasn't sure if she would actually do it. If she would just continue to tease her. To draw out every bit of restraint that she had until she finally wouldn't be able to move or speak or think at all.

But then it came. Quick and without much warning. Somewhere above her she could see blue through blond hair and muscles flexing. She thought she could hear Brittany breathing quick and audibly above her, softly moaning every time she thrust forward, but then again she couldn't be sure that it wasn't her own voice.

She tried to match Brittany's thrusting for a while; tried to move her hips in time with the way that Brittany's fingers curved and moved in and out of her. But, like she so often felt when they danced, Santana couldn't keep up, and couldn't predict what Brittany would do next. The way she sped up and slowed down, the way two fingers became three and then suddenly became two again; the way Brittany leaned down and lightly dragged her teeth over a nipple.

So she simply drew her knees up towards her chest, threw her head back and allowed pleasure to flow and wash over and through every inch of her body.

* * *

_They lay still. Quietly. The darkness scared her. It scared her that she could hear every creak as the wind blew through trees outside. Every breath Brittany took seemed louder. She kept hearing things down the hall and outside the window. She wasn't even sure what she was scared of, but the darkness scared her._

_For a second she contemplated asking Brittany to switch the lights on, but then realized that that would scare her even more. Because switching on the lights would mean that she would be naked. And Brittany would be naked. And there would be no hiding like there was in the darkness with a sheet covering their legs and a pillow wedged in between them. _

_She lay quietly; staring up to the ceiling that she couldn't really see, but knew was there. She used to always lie here, in the dark next to Brittany, and stare at the glow in the dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling. But Brittany took them down because she said they confused her biological clock and now there was nothing but blackness. _

_She wondered if she should say something. It always felt weird. Like there ought to be something more. Like, when her body is still slightly covered in sweat and she can smell sex on herself and the sheets underneath her, there should be more to do than simply stare at the ceiling until she was sure that Brittany was asleep. There should be more than waiting for Brittany to sleep and then scooting closer to her, trying to make out her features in the dark and lightly tracing a tentative thumb over her cheek._

_A freshman had whispered she heard that Quinn was pregnant this morning. She wondered if she should tell Brittany that and try to make conversation. _

_But she kept quiet and lay still. She always did. _

_When Brittany turned onto her side and Santana heard the first muffled cry into her pillow, the sheets slightly stirring as a sob shook through Brittany's body, she shut her eyes tight. _

_One of these nights, she thought, one of these nights she would turn around and comfort Brittany. She'd tell her that she's beautiful and she would hold her until she slept. _

_She would do that one day, she thought. Just not tonight. _

* * *

She swallowed a couple of times as she tried to regain her breath. A warm flush still covered her cheeks, her limbs heavy. The good kind of heavy that made her want to lie like this forever, not even caring that her hands were still tied to the headboard and that wetness was probably soaking through onto the sheet underneath her. She turned her head when Brittany moved to the edge of the bed.

"Do you want some wine?" Brittany asked and casually pointed towards the glass next to the bed.

She nodded and wondered how Brittany managed to look so composed. Surely someone who had just given her an earth shattering orgasm should at least look a little flustered. But nothing except her slightly shallow breathing revealed anything of Brittany's activities a minute or so ago. Santana watched as she took a sip herself before bringing the glass to Santana's mouth.

"Aren't you going to ..." she attempted to raise her arms a little, "you know ... untie me?" she asked when Brittany tilted the glass so that she could take a sip.

"No," Brittany shook her head and took a last sip before setting the glass down again. "I still have to give you your gift, so I think it might be best if you stay exactly where you are."

"What?"

"I brought you a gift," Brittany got up and walked over to the bag that Santana only now noticed under her desk. "I told you, remember?"

She frowned. "I actually wasn't thinking about that right now," she said with a little shake of her head.

She watched as Brittany picked up the bag and walked back over. She shifted her body a little on the bed. The heaviness in her limbs from a few seconds ago now made way for a sense of excitement that shot through her body. Brittany crawled back onto the bed, placing the bag next to Santana. She seemed to hesitate for a moment and then gave Santana a sly wink before she pulled a black box from the bag.

Santana lifted her head to get a better look. In big silver letters the word _FEELDOE _was written of the side of the rectangular box. Brittany's fingers moved slowly to open it. She stared into the box for a couple of seconds before she pulled the toy out. It was deep purple and reminded Santana of her vibrator except that it curved into a crooked L-shape. The shorter end curved steeply and thickened out in contrast to the slightly slimmer, longer end.

Without saying another word Brittany moved again so that she sat on her knees between Santana's legs. When she moved her hands to slightly part Santana's knees there was little left of the urgency with which she'd acted minutes before; her movements were gentle and elegant. Her fingers loosely wrapped around the toy, she brought it forward, lightly pushing against Santana.

"You'll tell me if you want me to stop?" she asked softly.

Santana couldn't muster anything more than a quick nod and a low moan. She simply pushed her lower body forward, towards Brittany, and shuddered as she felt the shorter end slip inside of her. A soft _Jesus _escaped her lips when she looked down to where Brittany was still sitting and realized what was about to happen.

Brittany leaned down and placed a delicate kiss against Santana's knee, her tongue briefly swiping against the skin there before crawling forward. She steadied herself against Santana's chest with one hand and for a second she wondered if Brittany could feel her heart drumming against her chest.

Brittany firmly placed her knees on either side of Santana's hips and slowly lowered herself onto the shaft. Then the gentle Brittany disappeared again and in her place, astride Santana, was a Brittany who arched her back and brought one hand up to play with her own breasts.

"Jesus Christ, Brittany," Santana breathed, bucking her hips upwards.

Brittany moaned. Thigh muscles flexed again, a hand roughly teased a nipple. She lowered her head so that blond hair tumbled forward.

"You like this, don't you?" Brittany asked huskily.

Santana's gaze remained transfixed on the woman in front of her. She tried to think of something to say, to reply, but Brittany had started to rhythmically move up and down, her hips moving upwards in a figure eight before she pushed herself down on the dildo again.

"Do you like it when I ride you like this, Santana?" Brittany asked again.

Brittany laughed. She was a tease. Moving up and down, back and forward, at a steady pace she teased until Santana closed her eyes, tilting her head back. But as soon as she closed her eyes, her body thrusting upwards, Brittany slowed her movements down. "Open your eyes," she said. "Look at me while I'm riding you."

She opened her eyes. "Jesus Christ," she muttered again, because she was absolutely sure that Brittany sitting on top of her like this, slowly rocking back and forth, was _the_ hottest thing that she had ever seen in her entire life.

Keeping her eyes fixed on Brittany's, Santana carefully started to take the lead. She canted her hips forwards, enjoying the way Brittany bit down on her bottom lip and whimpered. Gradually she moved her hips faster, with more force, until she could feel small droplets of sweat forming at the back of her neck, and she could see a deep red flush appear on Brittany's neck and cheeks.

The music had stopped. All she could her was the sound of Brittany rapidly breathing quicker, the sound of her moans, low throaty moans, rising in pitch and tone. With every thrust of Santana's hips purple disappeared and reappeared, Brittany's upper body bent forward, her mouth half-open.

"Britt," Santana panted. She waited a moment until her breathing was under control before she went on in a low whispered, "I want to touch you."

Brittany looked up as though awakened from some kind of trance. Her hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and her eyes were hooded and serious. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before leaning forward.

Santana felt the silk around her wrists being pulled looser and, taking advantage of Brittany's position, she brought her head forward to take a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around, eliciting a long moan from Brittany. She let her hands run over the soft flesh under her jaw, briefly sliding her fingers over the skin of Brittany's breasts and stomach before she brought both hands to her hips and flipped them around so that Brittany was lying on her back.

She lowered her head, finally kissing Brittany's neck, her shoulders, her chest. Gently biting down on the skin just above her collarbone, she waited until she felt Brittany's hands on her lower back, pulling her closer, before she sucked in the skin, making sure that it would leave a mark.

"Santana," Brittany breathed against her ear.

She lifted her head and looked down at their bodies, pressed together. Then she reached down to make sure that the dildo was still in place before she pushed forward and into Brittany. It was only with the fourth thrust that Santana felt Brittany let go of the breath she was holding. Slowly she felt Brittany beginning to move with her, locking her ankles behind the small of Santana's back as they rhythmically moved together.

Santana pulled away to see Brittany bring a forearm to her face, biting down on the back of her hand.

"You look so fucking hot right now."

Brittany responded by grunting and reaching up for a kiss. Stopping her movements for a second she lowered her head and drew Brittany into a deep kiss before reaching down and removing the dildo, carelessly discarding it to the other side of the bed.

Santana let her hand travel down Brittany's chest, drawing a stifled moan from Brittany who pulled her closer, temporarily distracting Santana by running her tongue over her jaw line. She hissed into Brittany's neck and rested her hand against the warmth of Brittany's inner thigh. Blunt nails scratched over her shoulder blades and she lowered her hand a little more. It was warm and wet and she moved to capture Brittany's mouth in hers as Brittany canted her hips forward, moaning into her mouth as Santana pushed two fingers into her.

Brittany called out her name as she curled her fingers inside of her, and using her whole body, thrust forward. She did nothing but steadily move in and out, replacing two fingers with three when Brittany turned her head into the pillow and bunched the sheet into her fist.

The room smelled like sex. Sex and Brittany.

It smelled almost the exact same way Brittany used to smell - the way sex used to smell - Santana thought for a short moment before Brittany's back arched and her upper body lifted a few inches from the bed.

"I love you so fucking much," Santana whispered, but she wasn't sure if Brittany had heard her. Because she felt her clench around three fingers and saw her body go rigid for a second, calling Santana's name over and over like a mantra, before she fell back onto the pillow and Santana thought, in that moment, that she was happier than she had ever been.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

She looked down at the stack of papers on her lap. Her head was slightly cocked to the left, so that she couldn't really make out any of the typed words or sentences. Some of the papers were blotched with coffee stains, others curled slightly at the corners.

She picked up the paper cup that she'd put down on top of some of the papers and noticed that it had left another mark. She liked it, the way that her favorite books and papers would wear out, collect stains and marks, and sometimes have notes scribbled across corners.

But she'd been naive to believe that she'd manage to get some work done during her flight. She merely flipped through the pages that she'd intended to read before finally giving up and leaning her head back against the headrest. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she just wanted something familiar to busy her hands with. To distract her attention from the slight nervousness that fluttered in her stomach. At the very least, she thought, she would have something to hold, to keep her from coming across like the nervous and excited twelve year-old she felt like. So that she could calmly walk through the gates and nonchalantly wave to get Brittany's attention.

She didn't really notice when the plane started descending. Nor did she notice the marks that her fingers were starting to leave where she rested her right hand on the papers. Tapping the fingers of her other hand against her arm rest impatiently, she waited for the plane to come to a complete standstill before she got up. She didn't turn around to glare at the small boy who had spent the entire flight kicking the back of her seat. Nor did she tell his overweight mother that she ought to consider trading the boy for a bottle of bourbon and two Mars bars. She didn't tell the old couple who pushed in front of her on their way to the exit about her idea for an entree to heaven facility.

Entering the baggage claim area, she squeezed past the old couple – they had heavy Southern accents and the lady was nervously clinging to her purse, she now noticed – and stood in front of the conveyer belt waiting for her bag.

She'd waited there often. Returning from visiting her abuela, her pockets full of the candy that she had snatched from the kitchen drawer before she left. Coming back from Nationals, ducking so that Berry wouldn't knock her over with the giant trophy that she insisted on carrying herself. She'd waited here when she came back to Lima for the first time after she'd moved away. And every one of the few times she'd been back since then.

But she'd never waited with this kind of urgency. She'd never before experienced this impatient feeling that was now coiling in her stomach as she anxiously waited to see her black and gold bag appear. She reached over and grabbed it once it made its way past her and, not bothering with a trolley, started walking towards the doors that led to domestic arrivals.

The moment she stepped through the doors, she heard a squeal and knew that it was Brittany. Her eyes scanning the floor for her, she dropped her bag when she saw Brittany making her way through the crowd of people.

Her arms reached up when Brittany reached her, wrapping her in a tight hug. She laughed and tightened her grip when Brittany lifted her from the ground and twirled them around a couple of times, whispering a soft _hello _into her ear.

"Hi," she said when Brittany let go. She leaned in for a short kiss and giggled when she drew away, noticing the confused look that the old lady who was still clutching her handbag and now also a large brown suitcase, gave her as she shuffled past them. "Hi," she repeated.

"Hi," Brittany parroted and lightly squeezed her hand before picking up her bag from the floor. "Come on," she said and nodded her head in the direction of the exit.

Brittany grabbed her hand and led her out of the building. She smiled at the way Brittany gave a little skip every couple of steps and bumped their hips together. It felt like the way they used to walk towards her car after school; only this time, instead of pinkies, their hands were firmly clasped together, finger lightly interwoven, and she didn't flinch or nervously look around when Brittany stopped in the middle of the parking lot to lightly kiss her cheek.

She knew it was Brittany's car before she pointed it out. A grey Mazda with a worn out rainbow flag sticker on the bumper. Had it been anyone else's car she would have inwardly cringed at the sight of the sticker and refused to get into the car, but it suited Brittany.

Brittany, who wore her heart on her sleeve, and apparently, her sexuality on her bumper.

"Hold on a second," Brittany said as they got into the car. She reached back and seemed to search, among papers and a sweater and what looked like a pink stuffed rabbit, for something on the backseat. Finally she turned around and held out a Snickers bar and a soda. "For the road," she shrugged.

Santana hesitantly took it from her hands. "Do you live that far away?" she asked confused. "Because I had breakfast this morning. Berry made me vegan waffles."

"No," Brittany shook her head seriously, "It's like ten minutes away, but you're here to have a break and on breaks you should have snacks for the road."

She looked down at the soda and Snickers bar on her lap. "Thanks, Britt," she said as Brittany gave her a quick smile before starting the car.

"So," Brittany said once they were out of the airport, "I tried to clear my schedule as much as possible while you're here and I have tomorrow and Friday off, but I quickly have to go in to work this morning. I'll finish at three though."

"That's cool," Santana nodded, opening the soda. She held the can out, offering Brittany a sip.

Brittany shook her head no thank you and continued, "So I could drop you off at my place if you wanted and you could hang there for the morning, or you could come with me. The studio is pretty central so you could walk around town a bit and check things out."

Santana nodded and took another sip of the soda. She turned her head and watched the landscape pass by as Brittany navigated them towards the city. She was vaguely aware of Brittany's excited chattering about zoos and parks and something called the Centre for Sciences and Industry. Leaning her head against the head rest, she slipped a hand on Brittany's knee and tried to remember how long it had been since they'd driven together like this - Brittany enthusiastically exclaiming something to her, while Santana would sit back and watch the way her eyebrows would rise as she spoke of the weird things she claimed Lord Tubbington had told her about.

It had been too long, Santana realized. It had been way, way too long.

* * *

_They only fought once. Sometimes they would argue and disagree about things, but that wasn't _really_ fighting. They only _really_ fought once. _

_The week before Brittany had told her about a dream that she had. It was a silly dream, she'd said, and she didn't know why it left her feeling upset. They were both cartoon characters, she'd recalled, and they were playing a game of ice hockey on a frozen lake. Then the ice began to crack and they tried to get off the ice, but with every step another crack would appear. _

_She'd always thought it would be cool to be in a cartoon, Brittany had told her, but it wasn't like she'd thought it would be because they were each trapped on a piece of floating ice and every now and then one of them would slip and land in the icy water and Brittany would be sure that they would drown. But they were in a cartoon so after a few seconds they would just be back on the piece of floating ice, trying desperately to get back to dry land. She'd laughed when Brittany said that the dream ended with them fighting over the last small piece of drifting ice. Santana took a swing at her with her hockey stick, she said, trying to get her to fall into the water. _

_It was a silly dream really, Brittany repeated, she didn't know why she even bothered telling Santana about it. But if they ever really fell into an icy lake, she concluded, she hoped that Santana would be wearing a white t-shirt. Santana laughed again, pulled her into a kiss and suggested that they grab something to eat and try to catch a movie over the weekend. _

_Brittany had been waiting for her in the parking lot the following Saturday evening. The Lima Mall parking lot where the security guy was always hitting on her. Despite being almost an hour late, Santana hesitated for a moment before getting out of her car and then took slow and measured steps as she approached Brittany. _

_The January cold was biting, but still Brittany had been waiting outside. Her coat was wrapped around her body tightly, a scarf covering her neck. Her hair hung loosely around her face. Like a drawn curtain, hiding her expression as she sat waiting, leaning back against the hood of her car. It wasn't necessary for Santana to see Brittany's face. Her shoulders were slumped forward and she swayed back and forth slowly. In her hands she held her phone, nervously running her thumbs over the back of it. _

_"Hey," Santana said tentatively when she was a few feet away. She took a step closer and hesitantly reached out a hand before withdrawing it again when Brittany didn't respond immediately. _

_Brittany looked up and in the dim light of the parking lot Santana couldn't tell if she'd been crying. She sniffled and Santana looked away. _

_"Hi," Brittany finally said, slipping her phone into her pocket as she slid off the hood. "You're late."_

_It didn't sound like a question or an accusation. It was a statement, as though it had only occurred to Brittany in that moment that Santana was late and she was curiously thinking aloud. _

_"I know, I'm really sorry," Santana said. "But if we go now we might still be able to catch the late movie." _

_"You didn't text," Brittany remarked flatly, looking up and into her eyes. She felt blood rush to her face when Brittany was quiet for a second and then pointed to the pocket where she'd put her phone. "I thought that something was wrong with my phone so I took it apart." She paused for a second and Santana looked away. "I had to ask someone to help me put it back together again, but there still wasn't anything. The guy who helped me said that you probably just didn't text. I told him you wouldn't do that."_

_She kept her eyes lowered, looking at the tops of her shoes, the little chip on Brittany's bumper. She let her eyes wander to anywhere but the defeated expression on Brittany's face. The look on her face, the tiredness in her voice, the way her shoulders were hunched made it so much worse than it would have been if she'd just been angry. Santana wished that she'd rather tell her how pissed off she was. How she was a terrible girlfriend. But Brittany simply sat there, her head slightly tilted to the side, and looked at Santana. _

_"I'm sorry," Santana finally said, still keeping her head down. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a crack running down the concrete below her feet. She thought of Brittany's dream and how she suddenly felt as though they might as well be balancing on a piece of ice that's fast melting from underneath them. _

_"It's okay. I'm okay," Brittany said in a barely audible whisper. _

_It was a lie. Santana knew it was a lie. For a moment she considered walking over and laying her head on Brittany's shoulder. To confess every single one of the fears that plagued her. She considered, for the millionth time, asking Brittany if she was scared. If she, too, sometimes worried that everything might not be okay. _

_That they might not be okay. _

_ "I wanted to call you but I'd left my phone in my room and I was downstairs." Even as she spoke the words she realized how pathetic they sounded. "I tried to get away earlier."_

_Brittany nodded. "How was dinner?" _

_She sighed. "It was horrible. My dad invited this surgeon who is a visiting doctor at the hospital and his family over and their kid kept staring at my boobs."_

_Brittany shot her a small smile; her eyes remained serious. "Gross."_

_"He was really gross, yeah. But at least I had the chance to test the water for the whole going away – going far, far away - for college thing ..." Santana offered._

_"Yeah?" Brittany asked, but Santana recognized the look on her face. It was the same look she always had when Berry went on about things that Brittany had no interest in but didn't want to be rude. _

_"The guy asked me about my plans when I finished high school and I said that I might want to go to college somewhere on the West Coast. Then he asked what I wanted to do and obviously I couldn't say that I don't know yet because my parents aren't gonna ship me off across the country with you if I don't have any plans and so I just said I was considering doing something in law." She was rambling. She hated it when she rambled but the longer Brittany's expression remained unchanged the faster her speech became. As though she could somehow keep the ice from cracking underneath them if she simply explained everything fast enough. "And I think that might be the way to go. I mean, my dad looked pretty impressed when I mentioned the law thing and if I can keep my grades up and maybe improve them a little I might actually be able to convince them." _

_Brittany gave another expressionless nod. "That's great."_

_"Yeah, and then I said that I needed to go, but they'd brought out some dessert or other they'd flown in from wherever the fuck they came from and I couldn't be rude ..."_

_A slight frown appeared between Brittany's eyes. "But you could be rude to me?" she asked._

_ Santana's head shot up. "Excuse me?"_

_"I said," Brittany said, this time a little louder, "you didn't want to be rude and leave without having dessert but you could be rude and just leave me here. Standing around for almost an hour, waiting for you to show up?"_

_Santana swallowed. "Britt, don't be like that."_

_"Be like what?" Brittany shrugged, her voice ominously pleasant. _

_"Don't do this," Santana said. It was cold, she suddenly realized and drew her coat a little tighter around her body. "I try. You know I do."_

_"Well, maybe I want you to try a little harder," her voice rose with every word she spoke. "Maybe I want you to care more about my feelings than some random doctor from some strange country and his ogling son's feelings."_

_"Britt -" She tried again. _

_"No, don't 'Britt' me," Brittany said and ran a hand over her face. Like the tip of her nose and her cheeks, Santana noticed, her fingers had the slight pink tinge it always got when she was cold. "You always do that, Santana. You're always going on about your plans and how things are affecting you. It's always about how it will be better soon." She paused as though waiting for Santana to say something. When she didn't she continued, "We can't go see a movie, because your abuela is visiting. We can't grab a burger together, because your dad's having a fancy dinner. We can't go to Mercedes' birthday party, because you have to hang with your mom and your cousins. And all the while you keep telling me that you're doing all of this so that things will get better. But you know what? It's not! It's not getting better, Santana, it's getting worse. I never see you anymore. We never talk. Last week you forgot Lord Tubbington's half-birthday, even though he sent you an invitation to his party on Facebook."_

_Santana closed her eyes. For a moment she let Brittany's words wash over her as she tried to collect her thoughts, think of what to say next, how to make sense of everything. _

_Beneath her feet ice was cracking. _

_Brittany was talking about a cat's birthday. She spent her days and nights planning, figuring out how she and Brittany would go away after graduation – together – and Brittany was concerned with her cat's birthday. _

_"Yeah?" Santana challenged, feeling anger rising in her. "Well maybe that's the problem, Britt. While you're off creating a fake Facebook profile for your goddamned cat, decorating your whole fucking life with rainbows and glitter, I'm out there trying to find a way out. For both of us." Santana was slightly out of breath, but Brittany's expression didn't falter. Her frown stayed in place, her eyes questioning. It somehow angered Santana more. "And if that means missing out on a fucking cheeseburger, or the chance to sing It's A Hard Enough fucking Life with a bunch of slushied losers at someone's birthday, then so be it."_

_Brittany shook her head and brought up her hand, forefinger pointing. "First of all, you don't mean that. Those slushied losers are your friends. And secondly, I don't see how you missing out on all of these things, backing out of commitments all the time, is getting you anywhere. You keep saying that you're doing this because you're bigger than Lima-"_

_"We are bigger than Lima ..."_

_Brittany didn't stop or respond. "That you need to get away, go somewhere where people will get you and accept you. But you're miserable all the time and you're still here, in Lima. And I feel like every day I'm losing a bit more of you," Brittany said softly. "You remember when Mrs. Lindsay showed us those pictures to explain how erosion works. Like every day a little bit of sand gets washed away and one day there's just a big hole. I feel like I look at you and see how you're being washed away little by little, and I'm scared that one day I'll look at you and there will be nothing left."_

_"I'm right here," Santana said. She started feeling frustration boil inside her stomach. Perhaps Brittany didn't want to understand, she thought. "I just don't have time for parties and shit. I have stuff going on."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Like trying to keep everything on track, Brittany. Figuring out what the future is gonna look like. Just ... stuff. If I don't convince my parents that I'm fine, that you and I will be fine, then I'm gonna be stuck going to Lima fucking Community College. And I just ..." Her throat felt thick and she clenched her fists tightly, nails digging into her palms, to try and stop herself from crying. She wasn't sure anymore if she was feeling angry or scared. If it was sadness or agitation. She thought of all the things that she could tell Brittany. About the way she would wake up in the middle of the night, trying to figure out what to do next. About the way she would sometimes close her eyes and her mind would replay a thirty second campaign ad over and over. About how it felt when she walked down the halls at school, in town, at home, and was sure that everyone was looking at her, talking about her. "You wouldn't understand," she finally said. _

_"Try me," Brittany challenged. Now no longer nervously playing with her hands, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. _

_"God, Brittany ... I'm just trying to keep the peace, you know." She stepped past Brittany and leaned against the hood of the car. She wondered, if more than anything else, she ought to tell Brittany about all the hours that she spends worrying about her. About them. Silently willing Brittany to see what's at stake. _

_Santana brought one of her legs up and rested her foot against the car's bumper. She felt angry, she finally decided, but wasn't quite sure who her anger was directed at. She just knew that she felt angrier than she had felt in a very long time. Taking a cigarette out of her purse she waited until she blew out a cloud of white smoke before she spoke again. "I'm trying to keep everything afloat until we can get the fuck out of here. I can't fuck up now, Britt... We need ... I just wish you could understand that I'm really doing my best and I could do with some support from my girlfriend." _

_"I really wish you wouldn't smoke." Brittany said, ignoring what Santana had said. She sounded annoyed. _

_"I really wish you would stop telling me that all the time," Santana said and took another drag. _

_"Well, you shouldn't, so ..." Brittany started. _

_"Have you looked at colleges and applications and stuff yet?" Santana interrupted. "Or thought of what you maybe want to do next year?" _

_"Yeah," Brittany shrugged and kicked at the ground. "I mean, I've had some ideas." _

_"Have you applied?" Santana flicked the cigarette butt away with her thumb and forefinger. "Because we need to try and line up our applications together so that we're sure to get into the same schools. Or at least schools close enough so we'd still be able to live together." _

_"Yeah," Brittany nodded. _

_"Yes, you've applied or yes, we should try to do that?" Santana asked and was surprised at the way irritation was spilling from her voice. _

_"You make it sound so simple." Brittany said and gave a wry smile. _

_"It is simple," Santana exclaimed. "You look through the brochures and applications and stuff that I sent you, you pick the ones you like, and you apply. It's not rocket science." _

_Brittany bit her bottom lip seemingly in thought. A frown reappeared between her eyes, the way it always did when she was thinking hard. "I miss you," she said quietly. _

_"What?" Santana asked confused. _

_"I miss you," Brittany simply repeated. _

_Santana fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "But I'm right here." _

_"No. No, you're not. You're always off somewhere." Brittany said and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. She took a deep breath and when she spoke her voice was tender, completely void of the anger she spoke with a few moments ago, as though she thought that simply speaking lovingly enough would make everything better. "This isn't enough for me, honey. Seeing you every other weekend for a bit and between classes and in Glee and for half an afternoon every now and then; it's not enough." _

_Santana sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "What do you want, Britt?" _

_"I want you." _

_"You have me," she exclaimed, still unable to figure out what it was that Brittany wanted from her. _

_"No, I don't." Tears were running down Brittany cheeks and she sniffled. "I have a tiny part of you. But like the teeny, tiniest part of you. I know that sounds selfish and that you're not my pet or something, but I want you and I want to be with you. I don't want to share you with your dad's friends or with your cousins or with anybody else. I want you to be mine."_

_She should've felt bad, knowing that she'd been neglecting Brittany. She should've apologized, taken the time to explain how she had been feeling. But instead, Brittany's words just angered her more. Like fire that had been smouldering for a long time, nearly dying, had suddenly been ignited and the flames were threatening to destroy everything in its path._

_"Well, one of us has to think about things other than themselves and apparently that person isn't going to be you. So while you're off fantasizing about a world where it's only the two of us and we go to cat birthdays, I'm out there in the real world. And you know what? The real world sucks, Brittany." She pulled out another cigarette. "Because in the real world you and I are stuck in the middle of fucking Ohio, in some lame ass little town where I can't walk down the hallway without some douche pointing to his crotch and offering to show me how to get back on the straight and narrow. So I'm sorry for not being the fucking perfect girlfriend, but this isn't some Disney Pixar movie. I have shit to sort out!" _

_"Well," Brittany swallowed and gave her an accusing look as Santana lit the cigarette in her hand. "Maybe if you would spend just one second not thinking about how everything that's been going on is affecting, like, school and your family and a college somewhere on the West Coast, you'd see that I'm here. And I know I don't always understand everything as well as other people do and I have trouble keeping up with everything that is happening, but I'm here. I'm Brittany and I'm right here."_

_"I know that," Santana said, resisting the urge to turn around, get back into her car and simply drive away. _

_"I don't feel like you do," Brittany shook her head. "I feel like all you see now that I'm officially called your girlfriend is that people are upset because we're having sex or whatever, but you forget me. You forget that I'm not just some idea, or, like, some accessory that you got as congratulations for being gay." _

_"Can't you see?" Santana banged her fist against the hood of the car and Brittany gave a step back. "I spend every waking hour of my day worrying about you. Thinking about how to make things right. Figuring out how to make all of this up to you. Wondering when you'll decide that you've had enough and that you can't do this anymore."_

_"That's not your choice to make, Santana! I don't need you to worry about me, I need you to worry about yourself!"_

_"I can't fucking help it, Brittany!" She tasted saltiness in her mouth, but didn't know when she'd started crying. "I'm not like you. I can't just sit around all day and show up at school and have nothing affect me. My life isn't just rainbows and sparkles and shit. I'm just looking out for you, Britt. For us. And I feel like, while I'm doing everything I can to keep everyone happy, to keep things from imploding, you're just hanging around, thinking that shit will just magically be okay. But it might not be okay. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking that everything is just so fucked up, and I feel so fucking alone. It's like it's just us, alone, trying to keep our heads above water, and hoping that we'll be able to keep treading water until a life raft or something comes along. Or until we accept that we're about to drown and need to just let go."_

_"Or you could just float, you know," Brittany said and shrugged. "Like, just go with the flow and wait for the tides to turn. I read this thing the other day and it said that you didn't even have to keep your whole head above the water. Just make sure that part of your mouth is out so you can breathe and you'll be fine."_

_She stared at Brittany for a long time. She looked at her until she was sure that she could feel the floor start to melt and move underneath her. _

_ "They're not going to turn, Britt." she finally said. "Nothing's gonna turn; you need to fucking grow up and realize that."_

_Somewhere in the lot a car's alarm had gone off and she wasn't sure if Brittany had heard her. _

* * *

Santana spent the rest of the morning walking around. Every now and then she'd stop in front of a shop she'd recognize from Brittany's descriptions and go inside, relishing in the knowledge that she finally had the chance to see all of the things that she'd heard Brittany talk about the past few months. She bought a bagel from a small stand on the corner near Brittany's studio and sat in the park watching a hysterical nanny, who oddly resembled Rachel, try to control two toddlers. Just before three she quickly popped into the coffee place across the road before she headed back into the studio.

She'd only seen the studio briefly when they arrived earlier in the morning. Brittany had been running late and just shouted over her shoulder that she'd show Santana everything in the afternoon before she disappeared behind a door to get dressed. Now that Santana had some time to look around she saw that the studio looked a lot like the one in the city where she'd picked up Brittany a couple of times after her rehearsals on the weekends. This one was a little roomier though, albeit older looking. The walls were covered in mirrors and bars were set out next to the mirrors. At the far end of the room there were a couple of small steel lockers.

Brittany was standing in front of a group of teenagers, softly tapping her hand to the beat of the music. Santana stood in the door, watching, until she caught Brittany's eye. Leaning against one of the mirrored walls, she heard Brittany tell the kids to take five before quickly jogging over to Santana.

"Hey," Brittany said and squeezed her upper arm. "Have fun?"

"It was great. I saw the Franklin Park Conservatory. We should go there. I got you a latté," she said and pointed to one of the cups in her hand.

"Thanks," she said, taking the latté from Santana. "Twenty more minutes and I'll be done. Do you want to stay and watch? Otherwise you can go and I'll call you when I'm done."

"No, I'll stay," Santana shook her head, "I like seeing what you do."

Half an hour later the last student finally left and Brittany came walking toward where Santana was sitting against a wall.

"All done," Brittany said and got down on her haunches to give Santana a peck on the lips. "You wanna go?"

"In a minute," Santana said as she looked around the studio. "I like this. The studio and the students and stuff. It's very ... it's very you."

"It's not much," Brittany shrugged.

"It's great," Santana insisted and gave her another kiss.

"We have morning classes for little kids and sometimes older people and then in the afternoons we have school kids."

Santana scrunched her nose, looking from Brittany to the now empty dance floor. "I think this is how I always imagined it. You doing something you love in a place like this." She smiled when Brittany looked away shyly. "Well, maybe I pictured it a little farther away from Lima, but still. Are you happy here?"

Brittany motioned for her to move up a little and took a seat on the floor next to Santana. She waited a few moments before she answered. "I guess. I mean I would have liked to teach something a little more advanced maybe. Like have students with some experience or who were really interested and stuff. And some of the older people who take classes here are really fat and then everything jiggles when they dance. But it's still fun." She took Santana's empty cup and threw it into the nearby waste basket. "I should probably go change so we can go."

"No," Santana said a little too quickly. She gestured to Brittany's tank top and tights. "I mean, this is fine. You don't have to change. You look ... uhm ... you look good."

"Yeah?" Brittany asked and gave Santana a sly smile. She leaned over, and putting a hand behind Santana's neck, pulled her closer. "Don't worry, no one's here," she said before pulling Santana onto her lap and closing her mouth around the spot just below the nape of her neck.

She groaned when the sound of her phone ringing echoed through the studio a minute later.

"Leave it," Brittany whispered against her chest.

"It could be important," Santana sighed and reached over to where her bag was laying next to her. She cussed when she saw the caller ID. "This is a super inconvenient time, what do you want?" she asked annoyed.

"Hello, Santana, this is Rachel Berry speaking," she heard a familiar voice come through the receiver.

"I know who it is, Berry. What's up?"

"I'm very sorry to bother you, but I need to finalize the numbers for our annual _Secret Santa Loves All Denominations Eve_ and I need to know if Brittany is going to be there. I have been thinking and I had a short meeting with Kurt and although I realize that we've already sorted out who is going to be whose Secret Santa and changing that now would be highly irregular, I don't want Brittany to feel as though we are not including her. So if she is going to be there we should have a discussion over the weekend and reassign Secret Santas," Rachel said in a single breath.

"Okay, hold on a second, I'll ask her," Santana said and placed a hand over the speaker. "Do you want to come to Berry's crappy Christmas dinner?"

"Not really, no," Brittany said blankly.

Santana sighed and brought the phone back to her ear. "She says she'll think about it," she said and ignored the look that Brittany shot her. "I need to go now. If you call me again before this week is over I'll make sure that that BFG you're dating gets an anonymous package with your vocal chords neatly wrapped in kitchen towels in the mail by the end of this weekend."

"It sounds awful and I don't want to go," Brittany said as soon as Santana hung up the phone.

"Not even if I promise to be your secret Secret Santa?"

Brittany brought a finger to her chin and pretended to think about it for a second. "If you absolutely promise that you'll rig it so that I get you, I'll think about it."

"Please?" Santana said and moved back to Brittany's lap. "For the past three years I've had to suffer through it all on my own. Just me, Kurt and Rachel and they make me sing all these carols-"

"You love singing carols," Brittany stated.

"I don't," Santana insisted. "And then they make me sit through all of the _Home Alone _movies and you know how Macauley Culkin's nose freaks me out."

Brittany leaned down and kissed the tip of Santana's nose. "Convince them to swap _Home Alone _for _Bad Santa _and we have a deal." She kissed Santana's nose again and then her expression turned more serious. "You going to be in Lima over Christmas?"

"I try to stay out of Lima as much as I can," Santana said softly. "I actually thought that I might try to go down to my uncle's. My abuela isn't getting any younger and I haven't seen her much these last couple of years."

"So you'll be in Connecticut? Will the rest of your family go? Like your parents and them?"

Santana shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. Maybe," she said and looked away, ignoring the way she thought she felt something anxiously gnawing somewhere near her chest.

* * *

_The alarm was still sounding when Brittany leaned over and took the cigarette from her hand. For a moment she was sure that she would just toss it away, chastise her the way she always does, but then she hesitantly brought it to her mouth and drew the smoke in. She coughed uncomfortably and spat out a cloud of smoke._

_"Christ, Brittany," Santana shook her head and looked away. "Don't do that."_

_"Don't do what?" Brittany asked, the cigarette sitting uncomfortably low between her middle and forefinger. She took another drag and coughed again. _

_"Don't fucking do this," she reached out and tried to take the cigarette from Brittany's hand, but Brittany quickly pulled her hand away. "And don't fucking act like you don't know what I'm talking about."_

_Still holding the cigarette above her head where Santana couldn't reach it, Brittany gave a step to her right and shifted back onto the hood of her car. "You can't tell me what to do," she said. She lifted her head and looked straight at Santana. Her eyes looked darker than usual – much the same way they darkened when she was aroused, but somehow different – and her nostrils flared slightly. _

_Santana raised an eyebrow and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Real mature, Britt, that's real mature." _

_Brittany's voice was ice cold but soft, almost a whisper, when she spoke. "You're the one who said that I needed to grow up. Like you, right? You want me to be mature like you, don't you? So I'm being a big girl," she paused and held the cigarette close to her mouth. Her eyes traveled up and down the length of Santana's body before she finished, "just like you." _

_"Brittany," Santana stepped closer and took the cigarette from Brittany's hand, "would you just fucking stop this bullshit so that we can talk?"_

_It wasn't until after Santana had stomped the cigarette out that Brittany spoke again. "Fine, what do you want to talk about?"_

_"I'm sorry, okay?" Santana stepped closer and for a moment wanted to reach out for Brittany's hand, but her body seemed cold and far away. "I'm sorry that I was late, I'm sorry that I didn't call. I know I haven't been the best girlfriend lately, but it's just been really hard for me."_

_Brittany gave a chuckle. Unlike her usual bubbly laughter, Santana noted how her laughter now sounded hard and fake. As though every sound she made was meant to emphasize her anger. "And you think it hasn't been hard for me?"_

_"Would you just let me finish?" Santana said a little harsher than she had intended. She took a moment to search for the right words. "I know it's been hard on you, too. It's been a shitty year for the both of us and I'm just trying my best to get through it without fucking up any further. I've been trying my goddamned best to find a way for us out of Lima, away from everybody, just the two of us."_

_Brittany stared at her with a curious expression. "And you never thought that I might want to be included in these plans?"_

_"You are included in them! Do you think I would even care if it wasn't about you? Do you think I would go through all the trouble, finding schools that we could both apply to, schools that you'd find appealing -"_

_"You mean schools that would take someone as stupid as me?" Brittany asked, looking her straight in the eye._

_"Jesus, would you fucking stop that already?" Santana all but shouted. "Schools that have programs that you would be interested in. I've been spending fucking hours and hours looking up schools, and finding out about requirements and scholarships -"_

_"Well," Brittany said stubbornly, "maybe you should have spent some of those hours talking to me! Asking me what I want."_

_"Don't you want that? Don't you want us to go away together? Start afresh somewhere new?"_

_Brittany smiled that wry smile again. "You really don't get it, do you?"_

_"Get what?"_

_Brittany stared at her for a long time before she answered. "You don't get anything, Santana," she eventually said. She looked at her for a few more seconds before she pulled her keys out of her pocket and opened the door. Before she closed the door she turned back to where Santana was still standing. "You don't fucking get anything."_

* * *

The water was tranquil and clear. Brittany had meant to buy bubble bath, she said, but forgot because she got distracted by a swan shaped sponge. She bought the sponge but forgot the bubble bath.

Looking down, Santana could see through the slight blue tinge, how Brittany's hips pushed against her thighs when she leaned back. She brought her legs up, resting her heels on the opposite edges of the bath, to make more room for Brittany.

Brittany hummed as she laid back, her shoulders pressing against Santana's chest. Small strands of loose wet hair clung against Santana's breasts and arms. They stayed like that for a while, neither talking, nor moving.

"This is nice," Brittany broke the silence, tilting her head back more so that it rested in the crook of Santana's neck.

"It looks different than I thought it would," Santana said, running a finger down Brittany's arm.

"What looks different?" Brittany asked without moving.

"Your apartment," Santana said and looked at the swan shaped sponge that now lay next to Brittany's shampoo and conditioner. Across from the bathtub a couple of mismatched towels hung on a towel rack. On the mirror Brittany had written a short to do list in lipstick. "Your place looks different than I thought it would."

"Yeah?" Brittany lifted her upper body a little to turn her head towards Santana. "What did you think it would look like?"

"I don't know," Santana said, trying to remember what she thought Brittany's apartment would look like. She remembered how, when she first saw Brittany again, she'd imagined a bedroom somewhere, in neutral colours, where Brittany would wake up next to a stranger. She smiled at how she had tortured herself at the thought of someone else waking up next to Brittany, kissing away the sleepy wrinkles across her face. "Just different, I guess" she said, looking around again. "But this kinda looks like you. That probably doesn't make sense."

Brittany turned back into Santana's lap. "Well, it is my place, so who else's would it look like?"

"I don't know," Santana shook her head, "I guess I just thought ... like ..." She thought for a while, her mind running back to Brittany sitting on their couch in a yellow dress, "I … when I first saw you again ... When I first realized that I would see you again, talk to you and stuff ... I think a part of me expected you to still be eighteen. God, this sounds so stupid," she said, running a wet hand through her hair.

Brittany laughed. "Someone once told me that there's no such thing as stupid."

"I mean," Santana tried again, "it's just that that was how I remembered you, you know? The way you looked, the way you spoke, the way you were. And then you were there, standing in the middle of my living room all of a sudden. And you were exactly the same ... but so different. Like you look the same, but you now have these sexy little laugh lines starting to form around your mouth and eyes and your hair is a little darker than I remember it. It felt kinda surreal, you know? To see you again after such a long time. And you were still Brittany, but at the same time you were so different to how I remembered you. All of a sudden you were there and you seemed so together. So mature. Like you were an adult all of a sudden and I guess I just expected you to have a seriously grown up apartment. Something with a lot of beige and brown."

"I hate beige," Brittany said and flung her leg over the side of the tub. "If I ever decide to dabble in politics again and become president the first thing I'll do is outlaw beige. That and homophobia."

"Sounds good," Santana smirked and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. "You also need to outlaw the _The Sound of Music _soundtrack and those soy meat substitutes."

"I'll add them to my list," Brittany nodded.

They lay like that for a while, Santana lightly running her fingers up and down Brittany's shoulders. She paused when Brittany brought her legs up, resting them against the wall in front of her and slid a little lower down Santana's body so that her head rested in Santana's lap. She wasn't sure how long it was before Brittany spoke again.

"I've been thinking," Brittany said, her expression serious and determined.

"What have you been thinking about?" Santana asked and bowed her head a little to look at Brittany.

"I've been thinking," Brittany repeated. She played with her hands in front of her, wringing her fingers together, "and, hypothetically, suppose I started looking for a job in the city." She paused and Santana flashed her a hint of a smile. "Say, at a dancing studio, but bigger than the one here. Something that would allow me to audition for more stuff. For bigger productions. And suppose I got something there and, hypothetically, and I, like maybe, moved there permanently." Brittany paused again and Santana waited, her heart suddenly drumming in her throat. "And if I perhaps moved into a place where I wouldn't have to keep all my stuff in a closet under the stairs and you could come over all the time and there would be no Rachel. How do you think you'd feel about that?" Brittany asked before quickly adding, "You know, hypothetically."

Santana felt a nervous flutter somewhere in her stomach as she reached over and wrapped both of her hands around Brittany's. "And you said that all of this is hypothetical?"  
"Yeah, I mean, it's just a thought," Brittany said quickly.

"Hypothetically," Santana smileda before leaning forward more and pressing a kiss to Brittany's forehead, "I don't think that, even if I tried, I could come up with a more perfect scenario."


End file.
